


Molly's Mask

by PancakeSlug



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Comfort/Angst, Depression, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, F/M, Gen, Humor, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Post-The Final Problem, Pre-The Final Problem, Romance, Sex, Sherlolly - Freeform, Stair Sex, Substance Abuse, The Final Problem, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-11
Updated: 2018-12-07
Packaged: 2019-05-21 04:05:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 22
Words: 36,055
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14908004
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PancakeSlug/pseuds/PancakeSlug
Summary: Molly always seems happy and cheerful, but it's just a mask she wears to hide her depression. No one suspects a thing, except for Sherlock, of course. How will she cope now that her heart has been laid bare. Will Sherlock and Molly be able to have a romantic relationship? Will he be able to help her get well? Missing scenes pre-TFP and what happened after Sherrinford.(updated rating for future chapters)





	1. Before the Call

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first Sherlock fic. Please be kind.

 

The alarm blared loudly from her nightstand table. Molly stretched her arm out from underneath the white duvet, and without looking or even opening her eyes, reached over to the nightstand and shut off the alarm. Morning had come far too quickly.

**_“Why are you doing this to me? Why are you making fun of me?”_ **

She groaned out loud as memories of that embarrassing phone call filled her mind. Her head pounded, and her mouth was dreadfully parched. _How much did I drink last night?_ She could not recall. It was all a blur of tears and wine and self-loathing.

Yesterday had been another horrible day in a series of horrible days. It had been the first of four desperately needed days off from work, and she had resolved to get herself back on track. She had been letting everything slide, blaming it all on being too busy. The truth was she had simply stopped caring. Housekeeping had fallen to the wayside. There was laundry piled up all around her bedroom, some in need of washing, and some in need of folding. Dirty dishes and cups filled her kitchen sink and counter. She had not bought groceries in ages, subsisting on take out and cafeteria food when she bothered to eat.

While doing her shopping at Waitrose yesterday, she had spotted Tom’s sister, Jenny, in the cereal aisle. Her shoulder length auburn hair gleamed under the fluorescent lights. Dressed in a tan peacoat, dark jeans, and black ankle boots, she checked an item off her shopping list as pushed a trolley loaded with groceries. Molly envied women like Jenny who always managed to look so effortlessly put together.

On the surface Jenny had always been nice to her, but a few backhanded compliments here and there had let Molly know that Tom’s sister did not really care for her. She had not seen or spoken to Jenny since before the break-up with Tom. Molly was not in the mood for false pleasantries, or worse a confrontation, and had tried to make herself unnoticeable while she intensely studied a box of Rice Krispies. _No artificial colors or flavors. Good. 114 calories per serving. Ah, yes, that’s great. Vitamin D is important for healthy bones, fascinating._

It had not worked. “Molly is that you?” she heard called out from behind her.

Molly put the box of Rice Krispies back on the shelf and plastered a fake, cheerful smile on her face. “Jenny! Hi!”

“Did you just get off work?” Jenny asked, smiling brightly and simultaneously looking over Molly with disapproval.

“Uh, no, it’s my day off,” Molly suddenly wished she had put a little more effort in to her appearance that morning, feeling slovenly in her trainers, loose fitting cotton pants, and oversized jumper. At least she had brushed her hair.

“Good, you look like you could use a break.”

Molly chuckled softly, her fake smile faltering just slightly “So, how are you? How are the children?”

“I’m well, and the children are growing like little weeds. They keep me so busy. It’s such a challenge at times balancing it all, but you’ll never have to worry about that!” Jenny laughed and touched Molly’s left arm.

 _Strike number two_ , Molly had thought to herself. She really should have stayed home and just ordered groceries from the app on her phone. “How is the rest of the family?”

“We’re all wonderful! So excited for Tom’s wedding this fall!”

Molly’s fake smile finally fell from her face, and Jenny beamed triumphantly. Mission accomplished.

“Oh, that’s great!” Molly lied. She crossed her arms across her abdomen, and the shopping basket smacked against her thigh. Her right hand anxiously picked at a loose thread on her jumper sleeve.

“He’s such a brilliant man, and we always knew that he would eventually find someone just as brilliant.”

“Yes, yes. Good to hear. Well, I must be going,” Molly moved past her in the aisle and looked over her shoulder as she walked away, giving a little wave of goodbye. “Nice to see you!”

She rounded the corner and walked down the next aisle filled with soft drinks and bottled water, as she tried to remember what else she needed to buy. Molly chastised herself for not preparing a list. She used to be so organized.

The basket she carried suddenly felt very heavy in her arms. She looked over its contents. _Milk. Bread. Apples. Ok, what else…what else. Uh…come on Molly…what else_. Her breath became labored and tears welled in her eyes. _Don’t cry in the middle of the store, Molly. Don’t be an idiot. Get it together, just get it together._

But, she could not. She set down the basket in an empty spot on the shelf and hurried out of the store. Molly had just made it through the sliding doors when the tears began to fall. She pulled her sunglasses out of her bag, put them on, and began the trek back to her flat. She had plenty of things she needed to do at home. The shopping could wait until tomorrow. At least at home she did not have to interact with anyone.

Little did she know then, that her day was only going to get worse.

**XXX**

Molly sunk her hands into the scalding, soapy water, retrieved a fork still caked with stuck on food, and set about scrubbing it clean. She knew she had overreacted to Jenny, something that was all too common as of late. She should have just brushed it off and continued with her day. Instead, she had allowed it to upset her and ruin her day.

After scouring the fork, Molly placed into the flatware basket in the dishwasher. She moved on to the next item she pulled from the water, a coffee mug with a sloth that read _“feeling slothee, need a coffee”_. Once she scrubbed the coffee stains from inside the mug, she crammed it into the last available space in the dishwasher. She realized she would need to run the machine twice to get the dishes truly clean, and scolded herself for letting them go for so long. She added the dishwashing detergent and turned the machine on.

Since there were still several plates and bowls in the sink that needed to be washed, she did those all by hand. Fighting back tears, she angrily scrubbed them clean and set them on the counter to dry. Next, she turned her attention to wiping down the counters, the stovetop, and the cabinets.

An hour later, she looked around her kitchen and let out a satisfied sigh. _Much better. Now, time to relax with a nice cup of tea._ Then she realized she had missed the cleaning the fridge.

She opened her fridge and groaned. _Molly, what the hell is your problem? How could you let your home get like this? Rotten food in every drawer, spoiled milk. You’re such a disgusting slob. Sherlock’s fridge is probably in a better state than yours and his is filled with decaying body parts._ She piled the rotten food in the bin and scoured the shelves and drawers with bleach cleanser.

After she finished with the fridge, she turned on the kettle to boil. She rifled around in the cupboards looking for biscuits, but not a one in sight. The only tea she had on hand was Earl Grey. Luckily, she had managed to find a still edible lemon in her fridge, so at least she could enjoy a cup of tea after all.

Molly turned and washed her hands, now red and raw as she gazed out the window above her sink. No longer distracted by cleaning, her mind wandered over to that dark corner. The one she had been trying to avoid all day. Tom was getting married, and she had not even been on a single date since their relationship ended. She had her shot at companionship, and she blew it because she could not stop loving a man who would never love her in return.

 _“Why would he? There’s nothing special about you, Molly Hooper. You’re ordinary and plain,”_ that dark voice in her head whispered. Hot tears spilled down her cheeks. Feeling dizzy and nauseous, she leaned over the sink. Her tears turned to loud, gasping sobs. “ _You’re so pathetic, Molly! Look at you! What have you done with your life? You have nothing to show for it. This is how it will always be for you, Molly. Alone. Just you and your cat,”_ the dark voice continued to taunt.

Behind her on the kitchen countertop, her mobile phone rang.


	2. Pity Party

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will be posting two chapters today. :)

 

_That phone call. That stupid bloody phone call._

Molly opened her eyes and stared at the ceiling above her bed as her eyes tried to focus. She had slept in her contacts again, and her eyes were horribly dry and irritated. A painful lump formed in her throat and she let out a slow, shaky breath. The tears that wanted to spill would not come. _I’m probably too dehydrated to cry,_ she thought to herself. It had finally happened. She was all cried out over Sherlock Holmes. 

She debated whether she should get out of bed. There were still so many things to get done. But, she also had three more days off from work. It’s not like she needed to get them all done today. What did it matter if she spent the entire day in bed? She had no plans and certainly no one would notice.

She reached for her mobile on her nightstand to check the time. It was 8:48 a.m. She had seven missed phone calls.

Molly pressed her thumb on the home button to unlock the screen. Three missed calls from John Watson’s mobile number. Two missed calls from John Watson’s home number. Two missed calls from Greg Lestrade’s mobile number.

Not a single missed call from Mr. Sherlock Holmes. _Bastard!_

The text message icon showed she had five text messages. _Oh, I wonder who those could be from?_

 

**Hi, are you all right? – JW**

**Molly, are you there? Please let me know that you are safe. – JW**

**Molly, it’s Greg. Everything all right? – GL**

**Molly, please text me as soon as you get this message. It’s important. – JW**

**Let me know when you get this message. I need to come round your place. Are you ok? – GL**

 

_Nothing from Sherlock. Stupid git probably doesn’t even realize what he has done. Why does Greg need to come over? Why are he and John so worried about me?_

Sherlock’s words rang in Molly’s ears. **_Molly, this is for a case. It’s a sort of experiment._**

_Oh god. Oh god oh god oh god. John and Greg must have been with him when he made that call. They knew all about it._

Molly angrily grabbed the extra pillow from beside her in the bed. She covered her face with it and screamed out a string of expletives.

**XXX**

_“It hurts to love someone and not be loved in return. But the most painful thing is to love someone, and never have the courage to tell them.”_ Molly had read those words once while perusing a Cosmopolitan magazine, looking for holiday hairstyle ideas. She was going to a Christmas party at John and Sherlock’s flat. It was the first Christmas party she had been invited to in years, outside of work, and she hoped that if she put some extra effort into her appearance, maybe Sherlock would take notice of her.

Those words had stayed with her as she wrapped the little present she bought for him. It wasn’t a declaration of love but signing the tag with three kisses was a step in that direction. Surely, he could take a hint. She had been so happy and confident when she walked into the party that night.

That was not the way she felt when she walked out of the party. Oh, Sherlock had certainly taken notice of her, just not in the way she had imagined. Although he had apologized, the humiliation still stung, and she cried in the cab ride back home.   

Her reprieve had been short lived. Not too long after arriving home and changing her clothes, she had been called to the morgue by Mycroft Holmes himself. What an evening that had been.

After that Christmas, she had accepted her place in his life. She never burdened him with her feelings, for she knew they would never be returned. He would have to reject her, tell her some variant of the “I’m married to my work” line. Even though Molly knew that to be true, hearing it out loud would be crushing.  She would no longer be able to fantasize about “what if” scenarios without feeling truly pitiful.

Well, she had finally revealed her true feelings for Sherlock. She certainly did not feel courageous. She felt foolish and humiliated, yet again. There was a throbbing ache in her chest where her heart had been ripped out, and now lay wounded and withered.

**_You say it. Go on, you say it first. Say it. Say it like you mean it._ **

_What were you thinking Molly? Really?_ She had been so sad and raw when that call came through. Tired of everyone. Tired of everything.

So lonely and desperate for love, she had pressed Sherlock into lying. She could not remember the last time someone told her “I love you” and meant it. Not even Tom. Despite being together for over a year, and engaged, he had never said those three words to her. She had said it to him plenty of times, and he had always responded with “me too”.

Molly was done giving her heart and getting scraps in return. If Sherlock was going to force those words from her, then she was going to get something in return, for once, even if it was a lie. She had always wondered what those words would sound like coming from his lips, in his rich velvety voice.

Now she knew. Her dreams had detail. She had given him exactly what he wanted in exchange for a piece of fantasy. _Molly Hooper, you are truly pathetic._

The click on the other end of the line had been a splash of ice cold water, waking her up to reality. She had just been manipulated into baring her heart, for reasons she could not comprehend, to someone who could not even bother to say goodbye before disconnecting. With shaking hands, she had turned off her phone and slammed it down onto the counter.

Molly stalked over to the coat rack near her front door, grabbed her purse, and marched out into the cold winter evening. She did not even bother to put on a coat or change into real shoes. The adrenaline coursing through her veins made her feel overheated. She trudged along in her house slippers, the cold winds nipping at her exposed skin. She made her way to the liquor store a few blocks over and purchased six bottles of wine.

“Having a party?” the store clerk had asked, as he placed the wine into a cardboard bottle carrier.

“Yep,” she replied digging her card out of her brightly colored wallet and inserting it into the machine to pay for her purchase. _A pity party._

The sun was setting as she walked back home. She was going to get good and drunk and forget all about one Sherlock Holmes.


	3. Molly's Secret

 

Apparently, the wine had worked to an extent. Molly chewed on her lower lip and tried to recall the remainder of her evening. She remembered getting back home and feeding Toby, but could not bring to mind much of anything else from last night. Unfortunately, she had not forgotten about Sherlock since that was the first thing on her mind when she awoke. _Damn him!_

She had a restless night of sleep. A situation that was all too common these days. After months of not sleeping through the night, she had filled a script for sleeping pills. She was taking one, sometimes two pills every night chased with a glass of wine…or three.

Molly Hooper had a secret she had been keeping from everyone. Major depressive disorder. It was a secret she had kept hidden for years. No one suspected that the happy-go-lucky pathologist battled a dark monster that lived in the corners of her mind. Not even the great detective, Sherlock Holmes. _So much for your clever deductions._

**_Are you, all right? And don’t just say that you are because I know what that means, looking sad when you think no one can see you._ **

That day in the lab, so many years ago, she thought she had revealed too much when she felt compelled to reach out to Sherlock. Surely, he would deduce the other meaning behind those words. That she, too, was sad when no one was looking. Would he understand?

Her need to offer support had overruled her sense of self-preservation. She gently pushed against those walls he had built, knowing all too well the loneliness he felt on the other side. If he had figured out her secret, he never let on.

Over the years, she had made attempts to discuss her dark thoughts and feelings with friends, but they had been less than understanding. One friend told her to just cheer up and get over it, as if it were that easy. Another friend assumed the problem was Molly’s job, and suggested she switch careers. Truth be told, they were not really her friends. Acquaintances would be a more accurate description, and maybe that was why they had reacted in such a way. She just did not have anyone else to confide in at the time. Since then she had kept her mouth shut and her feelings to herself. She had learned the hard way that when people asked, _“How are you?”_ they were just making conversation and did not want an honest answer.

Working in a morgue actually made it easier to deal with her depression, as ridiculous as that sounded. If she had one of those jobs where she had to interact with the public all the time, she had no idea how she would manage. On the days she struggled just to get out of bed, she knew the work would keep her focused and out of her own head. Her patients did not require any conversation, and they did not mind her ramblings if she felt the need to talk. The dead were always good at listening without judgement.

The thing was, she had been doing better. Life had been on the upswing for Molly. Then Sherlock came back to London.

The stark contrast between her feelings for him, and her feelings for Tom, were too great to be ignored. Tom had been right to feel suspicious about Sherlock. As much as she swore they were just friends, Molly knew there would always be something more on her end.  

It was not fair to blame it all on Sherlock. He was not the cause of her depression. Some of her unhappiness, yes, because unrequited love was a cruel and painful bastard. But, she had been battling this disease long before he had showed up in her life.

Things had not been all grey and dark. There had been happy, bright spots of color over the past year. In Mary Watson she had found a friend, something she had sorely needed since Tom got all their mutual friends after the relationship ended. While Molly never confided in Mary about her mental health struggles, she sensed that Mary understood. Mary seemed to have a sixth sense about things.

Then there had been the birth of John and Mary’s beautiful baby girl, Rosie. She had been elated by the couple’s decision to make her godmother. Spending time with the baby had brought her so much joy. Molly had no family of her own, except for a few distant relatives she had not seen or heard from in years. Both of her parents were dead, and she had no siblings. For the first time in a long time, Molly had felt a little less alone in the world.

That feeling was short lived. After Mary’s death, everything went to hell. Everything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am no mental health expert. Just writing from the perspective of someone who has also struggled with depression.


	4. Everything Goes to Hell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Molly thinks back on the days after Mary's death.

In his sorrow, John Watson had turned to alcohol for comfort. It did nothing to numb his pain, and only fueled his anger and rage. Blinded by grief he had looked for someone to blame, and the most convenient person was Sherlock.

Molly knew that Mary’s death was not Sherlock’s fault. He had not pulled the trigger, nor asked her to jump in front of the bullet. Sherlock had already risked his life, and his freedom, to keep the Watson family safe. She was sure that, deep down, John knew it as well. He was just unwilling to accept what had happened.

One night, while Molly was at his flat watching Rosie, John flew into a rage and hurled dinner plates at the kitchen wall. His uncontrollable temper had frightened Molly, and she worried what would happen to Rosie if she was left alone with her father.

 _“You need to choose Molly! If you are going to continue being Rosie’s godmother, then you cannot be friends with Sherlock! I do not want him anywhere near my daughter!”_ John had screamed at Molly. Shaking uncontrollably, she tucked her hair behind her ear and nodded in the affirmative.

With his hands on his hips, John paced around the room breathing heavily. He stopped, stared down at the shards of blue ceramic that lay on the floor, and shook his head.

_“I’m sorry, Molly. I shouldn’t have behaved that way. I just…I can’t stop thinking about how different things would be if Sherlock had never come back. If he had just continued pretending to be dead and galivanting around Eastern Europe. I would still have my wife, and Rosie would still have her mother.”_

Molly did not know how to respond. She grabbed the broom and dustpan from the cupboard and set about cleaning up the mess on the kitchen floor.

 _“No, let me do that,”_ said John as he took the broom and dustpan from her hands. _“You’re doing enough as it is. You don’t need to clean up my temper tantrums.”_

The next morning as Molly prepared a bottle for Rosie, John handed her a letter in a sealed envelope addressed to Sherlock. “ _Please give it to Sherlock, the next time you see him._ _If he comes by here, make sure to tell him that I would rather have anyone but him. Anyone. He is the absolute last person I want to see.”_

Molly did not protest. She knew what she had to do. She was not choosing John. She was not choosing Sherlock. She was choosing Rosie. She had made a vow to be her godmother, and she was going to keep that vow.

Her own mother had died when she was a toddler, so she knew all too well the future in store for Rosie Watson growing up without a mother. Her father had been wonderful and kind, but he could not replace her mother. No one had ever taught her how to dress, how to do her hair, or how to apply make-up. She had no one to ask for advice on boys, dealing with mean girls, and other issues that girls faced when they came of age. When she had gotten her period for the first time, Molly’s father had the woman who lived down the street come round and explain things to her. Molly knew he had done the best given the circumstances, but for a shy girl it had been mortifying to discuss such personal details with someone she hardly knew.

She often looked on with envy at the other girls when their mums picked them up from school, or if she saw them around town together. Molly would dream of one day having a daughter of her own and getting to be the type of mother she had always hoped for herself. She realized now that was more than likely never going to happen, but she could be a substitute mother for Rosie.

It had broken her heart to say those words to Sherlock and to hand him that letter. She was angry at John for putting her in that position. Angry about everything. But she pushed those feelings down and did what she had to do. Rosie needed her most of all.

A few days later, Molly packed up Rosie’s things and took her over to her flat. John said he needed a break for a few days, and Molly was more than happy to oblige. Truth was, Molly also needed a break from John. His drunken rants about Sherlock were more than her heart could handle. She was at her breaking point and knew that if she had a falling out with John the one to suffer would be Rosie.

Those few days turned into a few weeks. Molly had taken on the role of full-time mother, in addition to working a full-time job. Molly was doing all the grunt work that goes along with raising a child…doctor’s appointments, childcare drop-off and pick-up, feedings, diaper changes, baths, fevers, teething, sleepless nights. Mrs. Hudson had pitched in from time to time to give Molly a break or pick her up from childcare when she needed to work late.

Rosie’s godfather had not come around. He had followed John’s orders to stay away. Molly had texted him a few times but received no reply. According to Mrs. Hudson, Sherlock had “locked himself away from the world”. Molly wished she could do the same, sometimes.

John stopped by on the weekends to see little Rosie. He would apologize profusely for “abandoning his daughter” with her. Molly noticed that he always seemed distracted, as if his mind was somewhere far away. He would take Rosie out for short stints to the park or the zoo, but never took her back home.

She hardly had any time to herself, let alone time to deal with her grief. Molly knew this was not healthy, but she continued to put herself last. There were more important things to be dealt with.

**XXX**

After weeks of not seeing or hearing from Sherlock, she received a text one day while working in the lab.

**_Can you arrange a fully stocked ambulance? – SH_ **

As Molly read his message, she swore her heart stopped beating for a moment. An image of Sherlock bleeding out on his living room floor popped into her mind. With trembling fingers, she quickly dialed his phone, and in true Sherlock fashion, he did not answer. She tried again, only to be interrupted by a text message.

**_Why are you calling me instead of texting? – SH_ **

**_You asked for an ambulance! Are you hurt? What’s wrong? – MH_ **

**_It’s for a case. – SH_ **

_“Oh, for Christ’s sake!”_ Molly muttered. Luckily there was no one else in the lab. Everything was for a case, even in a time like this.

**_I need the ambulance in two weeks. I will text later with the exact time and address. – SH_ **

**_Fine. – MH_ **

**_Please bring my coat. – SH_ **

**_What? Why? – MH_ **

**_I said please. – SH_ **

Molly scowled, tempted to chuck her phone across the room. Instead, she replied with a string of eyerolling emoji faces, knowing how much he hated emojis.

**_Not nice. – SH_ **

**_Are you ok? – MH_ **

**_Why wouldn’t I be? - SH_ **

She sighed. Contrary to his proclamations of being a high-functioning sociopath, Molly knew that was not true. It was a mask he wore to keep people at a distance. Molly knew all about that. After all, she wore a mask too.   


	5. Riding in an Ambulance with Sherlock

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What happened during that ambulance ride with a drugged out Sherlock?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the kind comments! I hope you are all enjoying the story so far. :)

Two weeks later she moved the stacks of boxes in her spare bedroom away from the closet door. She never used the room since no one ever stayed for an overnight visit. Well, except for Sherlock, but he just took over her bedroom.

The room was supposed to be a guest bedroom/office. Molly had distant relatives who lived up north, and she had hoped that a free place to stay in London would entice them to visit. So far, that had not happened. Instead, the room had turned into a storage room/dumping ground. Whenever someone popped by unannounced, she would quickly throw things in the spare bedroom to make her home look neat and tidy. Those things usually stayed there.

Molly dug around in the closet and pulled out the coat he had stashed there years earlier when she had helped him fake his death. She ran her hands down the front, fingering the button holes. Molly could not recall ever seeing the coat closed. He always wore it open, even in the dead of winter. She held the collar up to her nose and breathed in deeply, smiling. Despite the time that had passed, it still smelled of him. But now, the scent of his cologne mingled with the fragrance of her laundry soap due to the coat being stored next to her out-of-season clothes.

Later that day she pulled up to a nondescript suburban home in an ambulance, just as Sherlock requested. She was surprised to see John answer the door, and quickly figured out she was in the middle of yet another one of Sherlock’s games.

Inside the ambulance, Sherlock sat on the stretcher as Molly took his vitals. She was so bloody angry with him. He kept nodding off, and at one point slouched over and fell onto her shoulder. With great force, Molly shoved him off her, slamming him back against the wall of the ambulance.

 _“Ow!”_ he yelled and grabbed the back of his head. _“What the hell was that for?”_

She did not respond.

_“Are you and Mrs. Hudson in on it together?”_

_“In on what?”_ Her patience was wearing thin and she’d only just started her exam.

_“Whatever it is that has you people dropping me on the ground, tossing me in the boot, and slamming me against the wall of a moving vehicle!”_

_“Drug induced paranoia. I’ll make a note.”_   Unperturbed, she undid the top buttons on his shirt and pressed the cold stethoscope against his skin. _“When is the last time you bathed?”_

 _“Couldn’t you have warmed that up a bit?”_ he snapped.

Molly turned her head from side, as if she were pondering his question. _“Mmmmmm…no.”_ She was not going to take any of his crap today, not after she had commandeered an ambulance to appease his penchant for drama. _“You know, you could have filled me in a bit on whatever scheme you have planned.”_

_“You would not approve.”_

_“Since when does my approval matter?”_

Sherlock avoided the question. _“Could I get a cup of tea? I’m so bloody thirsty.”_

_“Imagine that. Dry mouth is a common side effect of opioids.”_

_“There’s got to be a bottle of water in here somewhere!”_

_“This is not a limousine, Sherlock. You asked for an ambulance and your coat. I brought you an ambulance and your coat.”_ She smiled at him with fake pleasantness. _“Now, take a deep breath.”_

He did as instructed, taking the opportunity to look her over while she worked. _Grey hairs near her temples…stress. Sallow skin…poor nutrition. Dark circles…lack of sleep. Red rimmed eyes, slightly puffy…extended bouts of crying. Sadness. Grief. Something…more? Slight tremor in her hands. What was that about? Not nerves. No. Something…something else._

_“Thank you, by the way.”_

_“You’re welcome,”_ Molly responded, her voice clipped.

_“So, how are you?”_

Molly sighed, and instead of responding pulled down the shoulder of his shirt. _“Maybe it would be easier if I undressed,”_ he suggested and wiggled his eyebrows.

With a glare, she moved the stethoscope to his back. _“Stop talking.”_

 _“Be more personable, Sherlock! Talk to people. Ask them how they’re doing,”_ he parodied in his best impression of Mrs. Hudson. _“Look where it gets me.”_

 _“I cannot perform my exam if you keep talking,”_ she replied, her voice rising with every syllable. _“Now, shut up or I will open the back doors and toss you out onto the motorway!”_

Admonished, Sherlock shut his mouth and did not utter another word as she listened to his heart and lungs. Once finished, Molly removed the stethoscope from her ears and tucked it away. She picked up the blood pressure cuff, grabbed hold of his right arm, and rolled up his sleeve. With her first glance at his arm, she drew in a sharp breath. _Oh god! Sherlock! What have you done?_

It took every bit of strength she could muster to not break down sobbing. She looked up at him, but he would not meet her eye. Instead, he stared unfocused towards the driver up front. Her trembling lips parted to speak, but no words would come out. Molly ran her fingers gingerly over the track marks on his forearm.

He shivered at her touch and tried to conceal it by loudly clearing his throat. He had disappointed her, again. Shame and embarrassment burned within him. He wondered if she could feel it when she touched his skin.  He stopped his train of thought and reminded himself why he was doing all of this. _Save John Watson. Stopping Culverton Smith will save John Watson._

 _“It’s not as bad as it looks,”_ he whispered hoarsely, finally turning to look at her.

They stared at one another wordless. She could feel immense pain and guilt seeping from his skin, floating into the air they shared. His self-loathing was evident in every needle mark and bloodied scab _. “I think I’ll be the judge of that,”_ she rasped, her voice faltering.

Once finished with the exam, she plopped down in the seat beside him. Her breathing was labored as she worked to reign in her roiling emotions. She crammed her fists into the pockets of her white lab coat to abstain from pulling him into her arms, stroking his unwashed hair, and reassuring him that he was not to blame for Mary. The love that she had pushed down deep into the corners of heart was swelling to the surface, suffocating her in its intensity to be released and poured out onto him.

Sherlock Holmes did not do feelings, and he certainly did not do physical affection. The man she loved was in a self-destructive freefall, doing to himself what so many had failed to do before. He was killing himself, no doubt about it.

She knew about those feelings. Molly had entertained the notion a few times when the darkness had overpowered her will, certain that no one would miss her. She was just one person in a sea of billions. The world would not stop turning because of her. They were just thoughts, however dark, and she never acted on them. She had to take care of Toby, after all.

As soon as the ambulance rolled to a stop, she bolted out of her seat. Molly unlatched the doors, swung them open, and stumbled out onto the asphalt. Off in the distance she could see the black car John was riding in make the turn into the lot.

Her head was spinning. She needed to feel the warm rays of sunshine on her face. Needed to take fresh air into her lungs. Needed to get away from Sherlock before all the unspoken words spilled out of her unbidden.

 _“I can see you, you know,”_ Sherlock called out from behind her.

Finding her voice, she replied, _“Good, the drugs have not damaged your vision.”_

 _“You know what I mean, Molly Hooper,”_ he drawled.


	6. Unexpected Visitors

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Greg and Mycroft show up to Molly's home, but where is Sherlock?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank for the comments and I hope you're enjoying the story! The next few chapters I've had to rework, so they're a bit messy. Hopefully I have them straightened out soon to post. :)

Molly rubbed her eyes with the heel of her hands, hoping it would provide some moisture in her dry eyes. As she thought back to that day in the ambulance, and what had transpired after, she considered her behavior. She was drinking two bottles of wine every night. Barely eating. She only kipped with the assistance of sleeping pills and alcohol. During the time Rosie had been staying at her flat, Molly’s antidepressant had run out and it had not been refilled. She had been off it for several weeks at this point. Molly knew she should care, but she just could not gather the energy to do so. Maybe she was trying to kill herself, just in a less obvious and direct manner.

Molly let out a sardonic chuckle. Of course, Sherlock saw what was going on with her. There was no hiding from him. That day was just the beginning of Sherlock’s attempts to pry her upon. She had always wanted support, but when it was finally offered she pushed it away.

Toby jumped up on the bed, walked across the duvet, and plopped himself down on Molly’s chest. “Oh, good morning,” she cooed and rubbed the patch of velvety soft white fur under his chin. Toby purred loudly in approval. “I guess I should get up and feed you, huh?”

He butted his head against her chin and began kneading his paws into the duvet. “A morning massage? Well, aren’t you sweet,” she picked him up under his belly and set him down beside her. She swung her legs over the side of the bed and slid her feet into the cable knit mule slippers. The grey material was now stained brown from last night’s trip to the shop, and she also noticed there was a red wine stain on the knee of her pale blue pajama bottoms.

Molly grabbed the fuzzy purple dressing gown that laid at the foot of her bed. As she threw it on, a cloud of cat hair flew into her face. “Thanks, Toby. You know I did buy you a cat bed.”

She bounded out of her bedroom and down the stairs of her little house. Molly had purchased it several years ago after her father passed away and left her a small inheritance. It was a bit of a fixer-upper, and she used a portion of her inheritance to update the kitchen and bathrooms. Little by little she had replaced the flooring and painted each of the rooms.

The first floor consisted of a reception room with fireplace. There was also an open kitchen with a shared dining room and fireplace. The two rooms were separated by a wall, and both the reception room and dining room/kitchen had a door that opened out into the main, narrow hall. Molly liked that she could close them off in the winter to help with heating. Off the hallway was a small loo, as well as the stairs that lead up to the second floor where there were two bedrooms with a shared bath.

Yawning loudly, she stopped short as she turned into the open door of the kitchen. Chunks of a broken wine bottle lay scattered all over the tile floor. “Well, don’t remember doing that,” she muttered to herself. _Fantastic, Molly. Good thing Toby didn’t walk across it and hurt himself._

She gathered the broom and dust pan and set about cleaning up the mess. From her bedroom upstairs, she could hear her mobile phone ring. “Go away, whoever you are.”

Molly opened the kitchen bin to dispose of the broken glass, and realized it was still filled with rotten food from the fridge. Groaning, she tied the top of the bag closed and pulled it out of the bin. She lugged it over to the front door so she could deposit it in the outside bins. Upon opening her front door, she startled.

There stood Greg Lestrade, with his hand raised about to knock. “Sorry Molly, didn’t mean to frighten you. I tried ringing your phone.”

Molly set the bag down next to the front door. “Oh, I uh, I left my phone in my bedroom.”

“I called you last night as well. Even came by but there was no answer.”

“You came by?” she asked, surprised. She did not remember anyone stopping by last night.

“Yeah, I knocked on the door, tried the bell, but no answer.”

“Oh, I sleep with ear plugs,” she lied and smiled. “Neighbors can be so noisy. Sometimes it’s the only way I can get some sleep.”

“Yeah, well I need to come in and do a sweep of your house.”

“What?” she cried in shock. “What on earth for?”

Lestrade exhaled noisily and scratched his head. “Afraid so. Look, it’s a long crazy story. I don’t even know all the details.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Haven’t you talked to Sherlock?”

“No,” she replied, a bit too loudly.

“Really? He said he was coming by last night.”

Annoyed, Molly replied, “What is this all about?” She wondered briefly if Sherlock had come by. Is that why there was a broken wine bottle? Had she chucked it at him? 

“Can I come in?”

“Could you give me a moment?”, she gestured towards herself. “I’m still in my pajamas and I need to feed my cat.”

Greg reached through the doorway and grabbed the bag of rubbish. “Here, let me get that. I’ll take this out while you feed the cat and get changed. All right?”

“Ok,” Molly nodded. She noticed there were several people standing behind Greg dressed in dark windbreakers as she shut the front door. Molly turned around, and quickly scanned the first floor of her home. While she had cleaned the kitchen, the rest of the place was still a mess. _Well, nothing to do about it now._

She rushed into the kitchen and grabbed a can of cat food from the cabinet. _Only two cans left, you definitely need to do the shopping._ Toby was sitting on the counter, howling loudly for his food. “All right darling, it’s coming, just give me a second,” she said to him. As soon as the open can hit the counter, Toby went to town wolfing down the food. She ran her hand down his back as she walked away.

In her bedroom, she opened her dresser drawers looking for something to wear _. Oh, right. You haven’t put away the laundry._ The phone on her nightstand rang, but she chose to ignore it, assuming it was Greg. He could just wait a bloody minute.

Molly grabbed a laundry basket from below her window, hoping it was filled with clean clothes. She rifled through it looking for something that was only slightly wrinkled. She pulled out a citrus yellow sweatshirt, black leggings, and a pair of thick socks. As she removed her pajamas and tossed them on the floor, her phone rang again. “Dammit Greg, I’m going as fast as I can,” she muttered under her breath.

After dressing quickly, she realized she had not brushed her teeth. Running her fingers through her messy bed head hair, she rushed towards the bathroom, her feet slipping on her bedroom’s wooden floors. As she brushed her teeth, there was a knock on her front door. “I’ll be right there!” she shouted, toothpaste foam flying out of her mouth onto the mirror over the sink. The knocking continued, and her mobile rang yet again.

Molly ran back down the stairs, her foot catching on a piece of loose carpet on one of the steps. She grabbed onto the railing to keep from tumbling forward. She huffed and pushed her hair out of her face, annoyed at the intrusion on what should have been a quiet morning.

Once she reached the door, she swung it open with great force, ready to give Greg a piece of her mind.

Except, it wasn’t Greg who stood on her doorstep. It was Mycroft Holmes. “Oh, it’s you!” she exclaimed in disbelief, her breath labored.

“My apologies Miss Hooper, for dropping by unannounced,” said Mycroft flashing her a gentle smile. He was impeccably dressed his navy three-piece suit and burgundy polka dot tie, leaning against an umbrella.

Greg hurried up the walk behind him, “Everything sorted?”

“Uh, well, I suppose,” she moved away from the door. As soon as she moved aside, Greg with a team of people rushed through the door, filling the narrow hallway. They broke off into different rooms, and she watched on in bewilderment as they began to ransack her home. Mycroft stayed standing on the porch. “Aren’t you going to come in?”

“No, I thought we could go for coffee and chat.”

Molly looked between him and the people who were moving items with gloved hands and waving about some type of wand. “Is anyone going to tell me what is going on?” she asked, her voice agitated.

 “Is there a café nearby you prefer?”, Mycroft queried.

Just then she heard a voice behind her call out, “Found one!” She turned and saw one of the men holding what appeared to be a tiny camera in his latex gloved hand.

The color drained from her face. “Is that a camera?”

“Miss Hooper, I really do think it would be best if we went elsewhere while they work.”

Molly felt her chest tighten painfully. Dizzy and struggling to breath, she grabbed onto the doorframe for support. _Cameras. Hidden cameras in my flat. Who put them there? Why? Oh god._

“Why…are there…cameras…in…my home?” she finally managed to get out between short breaths.

“Miss Hoo-“ Mycroft began.

“Why are there cameras in my home?!”, Molly shouted. “Is this Moriarty?!”

Greg approached from behind her and slipped his arm around Molly’s shoulder. “Molly go with Mycroft. You don’t want to be here for this.”


	7. A Meal with Mycroft

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Molly and Mycroft discuss Sherrinford.

Due to it being mid-morning, the restaurant on Whitechapel Road was relatively empty. “Have a seat anywhere you like,” the man called out from behind the counter covered in a variety of pastries.

They made their way through the funky little restaurant with its walls of shamrock green and faded brick. Industrial style light fixtures were affixed to the walls and hung above each reclaimed wooden table. They found an empty booth tucked in the back, with lime green pillows in a variety of patterns scattered across the leather cushions of the wooden seats. “This seems private enough,” said Mycroft.

Molly scooted to the middle of the bench seat and leaned back against the pillows. “Well, this is cozy. I’ve always wanted to try this place,” she said, trying to make her voice sound cheerful. She could not stop thinking about the cameras and what all those people were doing in her home.

Mycroft took the seat across for her and surveyed the place with his usual air of disdain. The waiter handed them each a menu printed on craft paper, attached to a clipboard. “Charming.”

Molly scanned the items on the menu. Despite her empty stomach, she found she had no appetite. “Are you going to tell me what this is all about?”

“Yes, in due time.”

Molly sighed and rolled her eyes. He was Sherlock’s brother, after all, what did she expect? She waved the waiter over and ordered a latte and porridge with fresh fruit.

“Just a cup of tea, thank you,” Mycroft requested and handed the waiter his menu.

“Aren’t you going to eat?”

“No. Recent events have been rather upsetting. My stomach is still not settled enough for food,” he looked at her and smiled sadly. “Have you spoken to Sherlock?”

Molly shook her head.

“Hmmm…interesting. Well, I will tell you as much as I can, but I feel there are some parts that are best left for Sherlock to explain.”

Mycroft reached into his breast pocket and retrieved his mobile phone. After a few swipes on the screen he handed the phone over to Molly. “Does she look at all familiar?”

Molly carefully studied the photo of the dark haired woman on Mycroft’s phone. At first glance she could not recall seeing the woman before, but there was something familiar about the face. “Well, maybe,” Molly said scrunching her brows together. “She looks a bit like…hmmm…”

“She may have been wearing a disguise,” Mycroft helped.

Molly wanted to tell him that the woman looked rather like Sherlock. The eyes especially. As she continued to scrutinize the digital image, realization suddenly dawned on her.

“Oh! Oh yes! The hair…it was different. Blonde,” she pointed at her shoulders to indicate the length, “and she wore glasses.”

“Where did you see her?”

Molly continued looking at the photo, putting the pieces together. “Next door. My neighbor, Mrs. Abernathy, has a third floor she converted to a flat she lets out. She lives there, or at least she did. I don’t see her all that often, but when she first moved in I invited her over for tea. What was her name?” Molly stopped and chewed her lip, thinking back. “Grace, maybe?”

Mycroft sat quietly, taking in the information.

“No, Faith. That was it. Faith. Her last name was something common. Jones. Smith. Something like that. I haven’t seen her in ages.”

With a sigh, Mycroft closed his eyes and bent his head. After a few seconds he looked up at Molly, clasping his hands in front of face. 

“Who is she?” Molly asked as she slid the phone back across the table.

Just then the waiter appeared with their drinks and Molly’s food. “Oh, that was quick. Thank you.”

Mycroft poured tea from the pot into his cup, opened the sugar bowl, and dropped one cube into his tea, stirring it slowly. “Her name is Eurus,” he said. “Eurus Holmes.”

“Holmes?” Molly tried to make the familial connection. _Cousin? Aunt?_

“Yes, Sherlock and I have a sister.”

Molly chocked on the first sip of her latte. “A sister? Sherlock never mentioned a sister.”

“Yes, well, that’s because he repressed all memories of her.”

Dumbfounded by his words, she asked “Come again?”

Mycroft smiled and took a sip of his tea. “It’s a long story. One that Sherlock is still coming to terms with, I'm sure.”

“Where is Sherlock?” She brought her mug to her lips and blew on the hot liquid.

“I’m afraid I don’t know. I had hoped he was with you.”

Molly snorted. “Why would he be with me?”

He shot her a knowing look before continuing, “I realize now that the situation with Eurus was mishandled from the beginning. I thought that what I was doing was best for Sherlock and our parents. Let’s be clear that what I am about to tell you cannot leave this table. You may discuss it with Sherlock and John of course, but no one else. It would be a great scandal for our family, and the government, if it got out. But, I trust that you of all people can keep this quiet.”

Molly nodded in the affirmative.

“Please understand, Miss Hooper, that I truly did believe I was protecting Sherlock.”

 

**XXX**

 

Shocked, Molly stared at him. “I…I don’t…I mean…I don’t know what…what to say. This is just…it’s unreal.”

Mycroft broke off a piece of croissant and popped it into his mouth. Their talk had seemed to unburden his soul and restore his appetite. He had already finished one croissant and was making quick work on a second. “I wish it weren’t real,” he replied after he finished chewing. “People died.”

“And no one knows where Sherlock is?” Molly asked, worry obvious in her voice.

“I’m afraid not. I did not see him last night as I was…detained,” Mycroft said, seeming to choose that last word carefully. “From what I have been told, he was to stay at John’s due to the explosion at 221B.”

“The what?”

“Did I not mention that part? Yes, another one of our sister’s delightful surprises.” He gave her an ironic smile.

“Has anyone tried calling him?” 

“Unfortunately, he does not have his phone. It was confiscated by our sister for one of her twisted games.”

With blinding clarity, Molly finally understood why that phone call had happened yesterday. “Was I a part of one of those games,” she whispered, even though she was sure she already knew the answer.

“I’m afraid so, Miss Hooper.”

Molly took a deep breath and clasped her hands in her lap. She should have known. The panic and terror was so evident in his voice. Eurus had probably threatened his life or John’s life. She stared up at the ceiling for a moment, collecting her thoughts, before continuing, “So, who did she threaten? Sherlock or John?”

“You,” Mycroft responded matter of fact. “That is why there is a team of people going over every inch of your home for explosives.”

She felt as if ice water had started flowing through her veins. Her entire body felt cold and shook uncontrollably with a mixture of adrenaline and panic. While she had gone about her day, washing dishes and sobbing over ex-fiancé, unbeknownst to her a madwoman had threatened her life.

Molly swallowed down the hard lump that had formed in her throat, reigning in her emotions. “There’s one thing that I still don’t understand.”

“And what is that?”

“Why were there cameras in my home?”

Mycroft wiped his hands on his napkin and leaned back against the seat. “I’m sorry, Miss Hooper. That was another part of her game. The cameras were there so Sherlock could be witness to your violent demise.”

**XXX**

 

They sat in silence during the car ride back to Molly’s house as she digested everything Mycroft had told her. Eurus Holmes had been watching her for god knows how long. Her privacy had been violated. Moments when she thought she was alone were being recorded on cameras throughout her home. Were there nude photos and videos of her? Had they been posted on the internet? Her mind raced through hundreds of possibilities and she struggled to keep from breaking down into a weeping mess.

When the car stopped in front of her house, she opened the door and exited in an almost trancelike state. She was quickly pulled from her reverie by the sound of a familiar, shrieking voice.

“Molly Hooper!” A woman with her grey hair in pink rollers, dressed in a bright red dressing gown, came rushing towards her, clearly on a mission.

Molly forced a quick smile. “Mrs. Abernathy! Hi!”

“What on earth is going on over there?” she shouted and pointed to Molly’s house.

“Police business, ma’am,” Greg provided and shot her a smile as he walked towards Molly. “We’re just finishing up and we will be out of here shortly.”

“Police business?!” she cried. “What type of illegal activity have you gotten yourself involved in missy? Is it drugs? Are you selling drugs?”

“What?” Molly cried, incredulous. Some morning this had turned out to be. _Cameras and possible explosives in my home. Stalked and recorded by the crazy Holmes sister. Now I'm being accused of dealing drugs._

“Don’t try to fool me! I’ve noticed all the late-night comings and goings over here. Last night worst of all,” she pulled her dressing gown tightly against her chest. “First that one,” she pointed at Greg. “Coming around here at two in the morning, banging on the door, causing a fright.”

“My apologies, ma’am,” Greg smiled again and stretched out his hand. Mrs. Abernathy looked down at his hand and scowled.

“Then that other one. What’s his name? The funny hat detective. He’s always coming around here at odd hours. But last night…last night!” her voice shook with rage. “Banging on the door, peeking in the windows, tossing pebbles at the window like a lovelorn teenager, loitering! I told him I would call the police, but did he listen? No! Tried to get smart with me! Had to take matters into my own hands!”

“You what?” Greg asked with surprise. He couldn’t help but chuckle at the description of Sherlock as a lovelorn teenager.

Mrs. Abernathy jutted out her chin and glared at Greg. “Just because I’m old doesn’t mean I’m helpless! Sprayed him with my garden hose. Taught him a lesson!”

Greg was now howling with laughter. Molly looked back and forth between him and her neighbor. Had she really slept through all this commotion last night?

“Excuse me, who are you?” Mycroft asked in his stuffy tone as he approached the group.

Mrs. Abernathy looked him up and down before responding. “Cecilia Abernathy. I am the owner!”

“What?” Molly cried, bewildered. “You don’t own my home. I own my home.”

“I meant my home,” and she pointed behind her. “I own my home, right here.”

Mycroft swung his umbrella from side to side. “Oh, wonderful. That saves me a bit of trouble. I need you to let me in the upstairs flat.”

Her mouth opened and closed like a fish gasping for air. “What? I will do no such thing! Who do you think you are young man?”

“The British government,” Mycroft replied with a devilish grin.


	8. Sherlock's Mobile

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where is Sherlock? Well, we find out now.

 

Cold and exhausted, Sherlock sipped his third cup of coffee that morning. Memories, long buried, were coming back to him in bits and pieces. He should be in bed, or maybe checking himself into a mental hospital. Even he had to admit that therapy was in order after this experience, at least if he wanted to stay clean.

Instead, he stood outside a mobile phone store on a busy sidewalk. Crowds of people hurried past him as he waited for the store to open. He checked his watch. _Five more minutes_. He felt like he’d been there for days. Mobile phones were an essential part of modern life. In his opinion their stores should be open twenty-four hours a day.

His mobile was still somewhere on Sherrinford. He could not wait for it to be found. He needed a replacement as soon as possible.

Despite all the repressed memories that were surfacing, there was a more recent memory that needed an immediate resolution. _Molly. Molly Hooper._ The thought of her made his entire body ache.

Every time he had declared that he was married to his work or explained how he had no interest in romantic entanglements, there was a tiny little niggle in the back of his mind. A whisper of a voice trying to make itself be heard. He never gave it an audience. Now, that voice was shrieking at him, angry at being silenced for so long.

Desperate to see her and make things right, he had gone by her house last night. He had absolutely no idea what he would have said had she opened the door. First and foremost, she deserved an apology, of course. But what else to say? He did not know what to do with all these feelings and how to express them. Even though he’d had hours to ponder the situation, he was still at a loss on how to mend things between. This was really not his area.

Their friendship had already been on shaky footing before that phone call. She had been angry with him about the drug use and refused to listen to his explanations on why he had to do it. Not helping matters was her worsening state of mind, and his attempt to offer support.

He had known for years about her depression. While waiting for Mycroft to finalize arrangements that would get him out of England after he faked his death, he had stayed at Molly’s home for a week. One day while she was at work he had discovered her bottle of antidepressants in the bathroom cabinet.

The discovery had taken him by surprise. She always seemed so cheerful and carefree, he’d never suspected. But, he knew that depressed people could have good days, weeks, and months. Even during the periods they struggled, some depressed people had become experts at masking their symptoms, fearful of being judged and misunderstood.

He knew all about this, because he had once been depressed, too. It was why he had first started taking drugs. Knowing what he did now about his childhood, it all made so much more sense.

There was no shame for those with other medical conditions, and people often reacted with compassion. But, if you experienced trauma or had an imbalance in your brain’s chemistry, you were looked upon with disdain. As if it were wholly within your control and some type of moral failing on your part. This was yet another aspect of human nature he did not understand. No wonder it often went untreated and had become an epidemic.

Since she appeared to be managing well, he had decided not to pry. Truth was, he did not know exactly how to approach the subject with her. Over time though, he started to worry…and it bothered him that he worried. There were little signs here and there that she was struggling to keep her footing.

Once it became apparent that she had lost her footing, and had stumbled into that dark abyss, he knew he could no longer keep quiet. He had to reach out to her and offer his support, just as she had done for him.

 

**XXX**

 

After Sherlock was home from hospital and had made amends with John, the four of them gathered around a tiny table in a quaint bakery, eating slices of rich chocolate cake. Rosie seemed intent on getting more cake in her hair than in her mouth. While they all chatted and laughed at the baby’s antics, Sherlock watched Molly closely.

 _“I should get you cleaned up little girl,”_ said John as he lifted Rosie out of her portable high chair. _“Uh, is there a change of clothes in the bag?”_

 _“Yes,”_ Molly answered. _“Are you sure you don’t want me to get her?”_

 _“This is my job,”_ John nodded and gave Molly a pat on the shoulder as he walked away with Rosie on his hip. She knew he was feeling a bit guilty about leaving Rosie with her for so long. 

As soon as John was out of earshot, Sherlock turned to Molly and asked, _“Are you okay?”_

Molly looked up from her slice of cake and gave him a smile that did not reach her eyes “ _Yeah. Of course.”_

“ _I wasn’t being a prat when I said you seem stressed.”_

With a sigh, Molly picked at the frosting on her slice of chocolate cake. _“Seeing you in that state was very stressful. You just…it’s like…you don’t...”_

_“What?”_

Tears in her eyes, she took a deep breath before continuing, _“You don’t seem to understand how hard it is on me, on all of us, to see…to see you do that to yourself.”_

Sherlock reached over and took hold of Molly’s hand, surprised when she flinched at his touch. _“I am sorry for…causing you any unnecessary worry. I knew what I was doing.”_

Molly wouldn’t look at him. She shook her head and stared down at the cake, pulling her hand away, _“No, Sherlock. You have no idea what you are doing.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really struggled with this chapter and the next one. I'm still not totally happy with them, but it is what it is. :)


	9. I Tried to be Her Friend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Why did Molly hesitate in taking Sherlock's call that day?

Over the next week tensions between them grew stronger. Sherlock was tired of being treated like a child, and Molly, well, Molly was just plain tired. It was a tiredness that she felt deep in her bones that no amount of sleep could remedy.

One night after completing her shift, she had arrived at Baker Street weary and exhausted. It had been a long day at work, and she knew she had a long night ahead of her. All she wanted to do was eat crap food and watch crap telly, but she could tell the minute she arrived Sherlock was in one of his moods.

 _“Here to babysit?”_ Sherlock asked as he sat in his chair and read the newspaper, not bothering to put it down to look up at her.

Molly removed her bag, coat, and scarf and hung them on the rack near the front door. _“Any chance there’s something edible in your fridge?”_

_“Define edible.”_

_“I guess I should order takeaway then,”_ she said as she walked into the kitchen to put the kettle on.

_“Boring.”_

Molly grabbed the kettle from the counter and filled it with water from the tap, then plugged it into the outlet. _“Sherlock, I’m really not in the mood.”_

 _“What else is new,”_ he said in a mocking tone.  

 _Oh wonderful. This is going to be a lovely evening._ _“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”_ , she asked before opening an overhead cabinet. She rifled through the hodgepodge of contents, searching for the tea.

He closed the newspaper and set it down on the side table before strolling into the kitchen. He opened a drawer, pulled out a box of tea, and placed it on the counter beside her. He looked her over, the worry he had been feeling now too strong to ignore. “ _You haven’t been yourself in weeks. Months, actually.”_

She really did not want to have this conversation. Not now, not ever, and especially not after the end of a stressful work day. She just wanted to be left alone. “ _It’s been a hard time for us all with Mary.”_

_“No.”_

_“It hasn’t been a hard time?”_ , Molly asked, incredulous at his callousness. Sherlock moved closer to her, the sleeve of his silk dressing gown brushing up against the bare skin on her arm. Her body responded with desire to that faint little touch. She frowned, hating that he still caused that reaction within her.

 _“No…I mean…that’s not what it is, Molly. For you, anyway,”_ his voice was low and soft. His hands clenched at his sides as if he did not know what to do with them.

 _“What are you on about?”,_ she asked with a scowl, grabbing a sponge from the sink and angrily scouring the dirty counter.   

_“Tell me what’s wrong.”_

_“Oh, for Christ’s sake,”_ she muttered under her breath. _“It’s just a bad day.”_

_“Ok then. Tell me about it.”_

_“Why?”_

_“I thought that’s what friends were supposed to do. Chat…confide in one another. No?”_

_“I thought small talk wasn’t my area,”_ Molly said sarcastically as she threw the sponge back into the sink. The kettle was done, so she went about making herself a cup of tea while Sherlock watched. She was not about to have a heart-to-heart with Sherlock Holmes, just so he could mock her.

An uncomfortable silence stretched out between them before he finally responded, _“This…is not small talk. This is…important.”_

Molly’s hand shook as she stirred the sugar in her tea cup, afraid to look at him. Her resolve was waning. That part of her that just wanted someone to talk to, someone to listen, was reaching out from the shadows. She quickly pushed it away. “ _Sherlock just stop. It doesn’t matter. Really.”_

 _“It does matter”_ , he replied, his voice still low and soft. He was trying to open her up, little by little. For a split second he got a sense it was working. Maybe if he pushed just a little bit harder.

She fought back the tears that were threatening to spill down her cheeks. Why was he doing this? Why was he trying to…comfort her? She could picture throwing her arms around his neck and sobbing into his chest. _No, you cannot do that. Definitely cannot do that._

Molly leaned forward on the counter and rested her head in her hands. _“I’m just tired, that’s all. I’ve been taking care of Rosie quite a bit. Babies are a lot of work.”_

 _“Oh. I see,”_ he walked away from her to the other side of the room and leaned up against the opposite wall. Molly turned around to look at him, relieved that he had seemed to finally drop the subject and put some distance between them. She still had an overwhelming urge to throw herself at him. Not for the first time, she wondered what it would feel like to be held by him. To have those strong arms wrapped around her, those hands stroking her hair.

 _“Well, be my guest,”_ he gestured with his arm towards the hallway to his bedroom.

She shook her head in confusion _“What?”_

_“I’m offering you my bed. God knows I’ve taken over yours enough times. Please, go and get some rest. I’ll get dinner and bring it back.”_

_“Don’t be ridiculous, Sherlock”_ , she chided. _Sleep in his bed? How the hell can I sleep in his bed? It’s bad enough when he sleeps in my bed._

 _“What? You said you were tired, and I’m offering you a comfortable bed, in a quiet space, to get some rest. There’s no baby around, well, except for me. But at least I don’t need feeding or changing,”_ he smiled and gave her a wink.

Molly was not about to be charmed by him. Those days were over. _“Right,”_ she replied, giving him a knowing look. She was angry now, for allowing herself to think, for one moment, that he might be offering support. It was just another one of his games, and she had almost allowed herself to be fooled. _“And you’re not going to use that as an opportunity to score?”_

Sherlock rolled his eyes. _“Oh, come on. I really don’t need to be watched after all the time. You all have overreacted to this…relapse. After I get back with dinner, I’ll even join you if that helps put your mind at ease.”_

 _“What?”,_ she laughed. _“You can’t be serious!”_ Even if he managed to come back home not high as a kite, she knew that controlling herself in that situation would be next to impossible, especially given her current state of loneliness. It had been over a year since a man had kissed her, let alone anything else. She would just wind up making a fool out of herself.

_“Molly, you are not well. Please let me help.”_

That did it. He could see the anger in her eyes and knew he had made a misstep.

 _“I’m not well? I’m not the one with a drug problem!”_ she fumed.

He could not back down now. He had gotten this far in a conversation that was long overdue. _“No, you’re depressed and self-medicating with alcohol.”_

Embarrassed, her face flushed bright red. She sucked in a sharp breath and stomped over to him, looking like she might slap him again.

Sherlock put his hands up in apology, hoping to cool the tide of hot anger. _“Molly, I just want to help,”_ he spoke gently. He walked towards her, meeting her halfway and reached out for her arm, but she quickly pulled it away.

_“Don’t touch me! Don’t you dare touch me!”_

_“Molly let me help you.”_

_“You want to help me? Oh, that’s a first!”_ She stormed out of the kitchen, grabbed her purse, and marched out of his flat, slamming the front door shut on her way out.

 _Really cocked that one up_. He chewed on his bottom lip, considering how he had gone wrong in his approach. He heard a door open down below and the sound of Mrs. Hudson’s footsteps on the stairs.

She poked her through the open kitchen door. _“Was that Molly?”_

 _“Yes,”_ replied Sherlock somberly.

“What have you gone and done now to upset that sweet girl?”

He closed his eyes and sighed. _“I…tried…to be her friend.”_

Mrs. Hudson pursed her lips and shook her head. _“Oh Sherlock, what did you do that for?”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two chapters posted today. I just need to get these ones out of the way so I can move on. They were driving me nuts. :)
> 
> Try not to be too upset with Molly. Anger is a common side effect of depression.


	10. Mrs. Abernathy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where did Sherlock go after Sherrinford? Sherlock remembers his spat with Molly's neighbor, and finally gets a phone.

The day after Molly stormed out of his flat, Sherlock had sent her a text message.

**_My apologies. – SH_ **

**_Sorry I overreacted. Bad day. – MH_ **

He had no idea how to respond to her message, worried that anything he said would be taken the wrong way. Sherlock decided to just do as she asked and leave her alone, for the time being anyway. Certainly not forever. That’s now what she meant...or did she?

 

Now, he really wasn’t sure. Eurus’ phone call had undoubtedly mucked things up between them. Mulling things over with a clear head, Sherlock realized all the ways he could have handled that call differently, all the ways he could have gotten the release code without getting her hackles raised. Frantic and foolish, he could not think clearly…he could not see. A world without Molly Hooper was a world he did not want to know, and it had blinded him to reason and logic.

Now, he needed to know that was she all right. She needed to know…everything. That she was never, ever an experiment to him. That she has always mattered. That he loved her. Even though he was still sorting through all his feelings, he knew these things to be true.  

After leaving Musgrave, John had texted and phoned Molly but received no reply. Once they arrived at John’s house, Sherlock tried calling her from John’s landline phone. When she still did not answer, he phoned Lestrade.

 _“Have you heard from Molly?”_ he asked.

_“No. I’ve texted her and called. I’m at her house right now, but there’s no answer.”_

Sherlock rubbed his hand across his forehead where a stress headache was starting to form. _“Go on home, get some rest. I will keep trying to reach her.”_

 _“You sure?”_ he asked.

 _“Yes,”_ replied Sherlock. “ _You’ve done enough for one night.”_ He knew what had to be done. Once he hung up with Lestrade, he immediately dialed a cab company and arranged for a pick-up. There would be no sleep tonight.

 

Thirty minutes later a cab dropped him off in front of the brick terraced house with a yellow door. Molly’s house. He knocked and rang the bell, just as Lestrade had done, but there was no answer. He tried to peek through the windows, but the curtains were drawn. From the corner of his eye he could see a light come on in the window next door. _Mrs. Abernathy._

Molly had given him a key to dissuade him from picking her lock. Checking his coat pockets, he realized he did not have his keys. He considered picking the lock anyway, as he had done in the past, but thought better of it. Although she was not answering, Sherlock was certain she was at home and more than likely asleep.  Surely, she was upset after that phone call and the immediate disconnect. Even he knew it was a bit not good to hang up on a woman after she admits her love for you.  If he were to pick her lock now, that would be the final nail in the coffin of their friendship.

 _Coffin._ His hands, swollen and bruised, shook at the thought of that coffin. No, he was definitely not going to do anything to upset her further.

He decided that what he needed was a grand romantic gesture. Surely that would swing favor in his direction. But what? He had no experience with romance. Well, there was Jeanine, but that was all stuff he learned from watching movies.

_Wait! That's it! Movies! Women love that sort of thing!_

Mary enjoyed watching romantic comedies, and since John would not watch them she tortured Sherlock and forced him to sit through a few. Well, there were a few he enjoyed, he had to admit. The common theme amongst all of them seemed to be "man screws up and wins back woman". There had to be a few ideas there he could try.

Sherlock wished he had his mobile phone. He could play music outside her window, like that bloke did in that one movie with the boombox. He even had the long coat.

_That won't work right now. Think! What else was there?_

Looking around, he noticed a patch of tiny pebbles around a rose bush in the flower bed. He remembered another movie he had been forced to watch, where the leading man had gone over to the house of the leading lady and tossed rocks at her window as some sort of romantic gesture. He had no idea why it was considered a romantic gesture. Surely in any other situation it would be vandalism. However, it had worked in the movie, so he figured it was worth a shot.

He grabbed a handful and tossed one at the second story window. He knew her bed was on the opposite wall but hoped it might make enough noise to rouse her from her slumber.

A porch light turned on next door, followed by the creaking opening of the front door. _“Do you have any idea what time it is?”_ , the neighbor woman shouted at him.

He shot her a goofy grin. Pulling up his coat sleeve he checked his watch, _“Why yes, it is precisely 2:46.”_

She gave him a look that could kill, then turned in a huff and went back inside the house.

 _“You’re welcome!”_ Sherlock called out to her sarcastically. He tossed a few more pebbles at Molly’s window to no avail.

He strolled next door and knocked on Mrs. Abernathy’s door. Knowing she was awake, he didn’t see the harm in asking to borrow her phone. A light turned on upstairs, and a window was pulled open. Mrs. Abernathy stuck her head out, _“Are you out of your mind?”_

Sherlock seemed to consider her question. _“Probably,”_ he smiled up at her. _“Could I use your phone?”_

 _“You most certainly cannot!”_ she yelled.

_“Why not?”_

_“Why not?”_ , she sputtered. _“Why not? Young man it is in the middle of the night. Go on home!”_

_“Yeeeeeaaahhhh…can’t do that, I’m afraid. Please. It’s very, very important that I use your phone.”_

Without responding, she shut the window and a second later the light turned off.

 _“Well, it was worth a try,”_ Sherlock muttered to himself. He walked back over to Molly’s house and rang the bell once more. There was still no response.

Sherlock sat down on her front step, pulled his knees up to his chest, and folded his arms across them. He wished he had his scarf to provide a little extra warmth from the cold. According to his watch it was now 2:51 in the morning. He figured it would only be a few hours before Molly awoke. He would just sit here and wait.

Leaning back against her front door, he shut his eyes. Maybe he could manage a few hours of sleep. It would not be the first time he had slept on a porch, but those times were aided by drugs.

He heard Mrs. Abernathy’s front door open. _“You!”_ she shouted. _“You better get out of here or I will call the police!”_

Sherlock cocked his head to look at her and smiled. _“Oh, please do. Tell them I said hello. Could you ring Molly while you’re at it?”_

_“Don’t get smart with me! You are loitering! If Molly wanted to see you then I’m sure she would answer the door.”_

He stood up from his spot on the step, and with his hands behind his back walked towards the low fence that separated Molly’s house from Mrs. Abernathy’s. “ _Since you are obviously bored and can’t sleep, why don’t you just ring your girlfriend down the street to pop by.”_

 _“You filthy pervert! You shut your mouth!”_ she shrieked.

_“Oh, get over yourself. It’s 2018. No one cares that you two have been carrying on for months, quite loudly I might add. Might want to close your window next time.”_

With that Mrs. Abernathy reached for her garden hose and turned it on Sherlock.

 

**XXX**

 

Sherlock exited the mobile store, phone in hand. Finally! He had not realized how much his phone was like an appendage until he did not have it.

There was so much to do. So many people to call. But first, he needed to call Molly.

He dialed her up. The phone rang four times before going to voicemail. _Should I leave a message? No. Try her again._

He waited a minute, then rang her number again. Once again it went to voicemail. Disheartened, he decided to leave a message instead. “Molly, it’s me…”


	11. Brotherly Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock gets a hold of Mycroft, and finally makes his way home.

Mycroft wandered around the messy flat, mentally cataloging the photographs that lined the walls. Eurus had been at this for a while. There were pictures of Sherlock. There were pictures of the Watson family, including that human child of theirs. All the pictures of Mary had her face crossed out with a black “X”, he assumed to indicate her death.

There were pictures of Molly, Mrs. Hudson, and Lestrade as well. But mostly, the pictures were of Sherlock. Some of them had crude drawings on them in bright red marker, causing him to recall the disturbing pictures she had drawn as a child.

There were still images of video footage from Molly’s home. They showed Sherlock and Molly standing at her kitchen counter and sitting on the sofa together. The photo Mycroft found most surprising was of Sherlock sleeping in Molly’s bed.

Mycroft drew the same conclusion as his sister regarding Sherlock’s feelings. Yes, the sentimental fool had fallen in love.

Mycroft felt his mobile phone vibrate in his breast pocket. Upon reading Sherlock’s name on the display, he answered the call, “Oh, there you are. I was worried I would have to start raiding every dosshouse in London.”

“No,” Sherlock replied. “Although that would have been a more enjoyable way to spend my morning. Had to buy a new phone. I hate when people borrow things and don’t return them.”

“Siblings. So inconsiderate,” Mycroft quipped. “On the subject of our sister I just found out a bit of new information after speaking to Miss Hooper.”

Sherlock’s heart skipped a beat at the mention of Molly’s name. “You talked to Molly?”

“Yes, we had breakfast together.”

Sherlock sputtered, “You had…breakfast? With Molly?”

“Yes. Turns out our sister’s Faith Smith persona rented out the flat in the house next door to Miss Hooper. Even popped by for tea once or twice. It appears she was using it as her home base while she did reconnaissance work and carried out her little schemes.”

“How long had she been living there?” Sherlock asked.

“Well, Miss Hooper wasn’t sure on the exact date. Best she could recall it’s been a few years. The landlady has been less than cooperative. As if I care about the marijuana plants she has growing in her spare bedroom.”

Sherlock chuckled. “Ah, Mrs. Abernathy.”

“Did you enjoy your shower?” asked Mycroft, humor in his voice.

Sherlock ignored the question. “How is Molly?”

“Well,” Mycroft began and moved the phone to his other ear. “Depressed. Isolated. Bit of a drink problem.”

He chewed on his bottom lip, trying to ignore the ache in his chest and his own words ringing in his ears. **_Unmarried. Practical about death. Alone._**

Impatiently he asked, “Apart from that?”

“Fine, given the circumstances. She was very unsettled by the cameras.”

“Of course.”

“I explained the ordeal at Sherrinford.”

Sherlock let out a long sigh. Before calling Mycroft, he had phoned Molly and left two voicemail messages. He hoped she heard those messages before speaking with Mycroft.

“Have you spoken to Miss Hooper?” Mycroft asked.

“No, not for lack of trying. I’m heading to my flat now.”

“I’ll be phoning our parents later today.”

“You haven’t called them yet?”

“They’re on holiday in Georgia. There is a five-hour time difference. I didn’t want to wake them, particularly with such dreadful news.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes and huffed, “That was considerate of you. I’m sure it has nothing to do with the tongue lashing you’re about to receive from mother.”

There was silence on the other end, and Sherlock realized he had been a bit too harsh with his older brother. “You did the best you could.”

“Yes,” Mycroft replied, a hint of sadness in his voice, before disconnecting the call.

**XXX**

Making his way through the scorched rubble, Sherlock assessed the damages. He was a bit surprised the flat was not in worst shape. There were a few things that could be salvaged. Most of the damage was confined to the front room and part of the kitchen.

He breathed a sigh of relief that the bathroom and bedroom appeared unscathed. He desperately needed a shower and sleep. Every muscle and bone in his body hurt, and he was becoming delirious from exhaustion.

With his hands pressed against the tile wall, he stood under the shower head as scalding hot water rained down upon his aching body. The tension in his stiff muscles slowly loosened, and he groaned in relief. However, it did nothing to ease the unrelenting ache in his chest or the sense of unsureness he felt regarding himself.

He had arrived at the conclusion that he had crossed over a demarcation line in his life. The Sherlock Holmes before Sherrinford was not the same person now. Parts of him that did not survive had new parts growing in the vacant spots, or maybe parts that had always been there that he had managed to lock away.

**_Just text her. Phone her, do something while there’s still a chance._ **

Those words of John’s were haunting him now. Words that were about Irene Adler. But, hers was not the face that appeared in Sherlock’s mind. That face belonged to Molly. 

**_Because that chance doesn’t last forever. Trust me Sherlock. It’s gone before you know it._ **

Had he missed his chance? He had tried everything to get in touch with her. She was the first person he called after getting his new mobile, but his calls went unanswered. Voicemail messages not returned. No reply to his text message, either.

**_Before you know it._ **

Granted, he had cocked up the first voicemail message. He knew that without a doubt. But the second message…that second message he had done better. Hadn’t he? Perhaps he had said too much or worded it all wrong.

He stumbled out of the shower, his body weakening every minute with fatigue. Still wet, he wrapped a towel around his waist and made his way to the bedroom. He pulled back the duvet and collapsed onto his bed, not even bothering with pajamas. Within a second, the blackness came over him and he was pulled into the dark oblivion of sleep. 


	12. The Message

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What did Sherlock say to Molly on that message?

Bewildered, Molly walked through her home assessing its current state. She thought it was a mess before, but now it was an absolute disaster. Furniture moved all around, books tossed out onto the floor, cabinets and drawers emptied of their contents, holes in her walls. The thought of putting everything back together overwhelmed her.

Greg had offered to have a cleaning crew come and do the work. Molly declined the offer. She was in a state after talking to Mycroft and learning the crazy Holmes sister had been watching her for god knows how long. What she really wanted right now was to just be alone with her thoughts.

She made her way upstairs, tripping on the loose piece of carpet again. _You really need to fix that before you break your neck._

The upstairs had fared no better. They really left nothing unturned. _Well, at least you know they got everything._

Toby was curled up on a blanket that had been tossed on the floor. She sat down next to him and stroked his fur. He awakened and stretched, before rolling onto his back so she could rub his belly. “I guess you weren’t disturbed by all the commotion.” He purred with contentment.

The ping of a text alert sounded from somewhere in the room. Molly realized she had left her phone on the nightstand that morning and had not grabbed it before being rushed out of her home. She moved about the room in confusion, trying to discern where the sound had originated. After sorting through piles of bedding, clothing, and other items, she finally located it under her bed.

**_Hi! Just checking in again to see if you’re all right. – JW_ **

**_Mornin’ Molly! I know you’re off tomorrow, but we could really use a hand down here. Several people are out with the flu. – MS_ **

**_We need to talk. - SH_ **

**_I just heard from Greg. Glad to know you’re safe. Give me a ring when you have a chance. – JW_ **

A feeling of dread washed over her. She knew what Sherlock was going to say. The thought of what would be an awkward and embarrassing phone conversation made her stomach churn. She could not do this today. She had already been through enough and it was only midday. 

After reading through her text messages, she saw that she had one missed call and voicemail from Mike Stamford. The part of her that felt compelled to go into work and help was waging a battle with the part of her that wanted to crawl back into bed and hide under the covers for two days.

There were also two missed calls and voicemails from Sherlock Holmes. “Shit,” she swore out loud. Instead of having a conversation with her, it seemed he had opted to sidestep the awkwardness of social interaction and just leave a message explaining everything.

_Well, I guess that does make things easier. At least you don’t have to see him or try to come up with a response without crying._

As her thumb hovered over the voicemail icon, she hesitated. Did she really want to listen to his messages right now? After mulling it over, she decided to leave the messages for later. Hearing his voice would probably turn her into a sobbing mess, and despite everything she’d been through today she had managed to remain stoic.

Molly opened her nightstand drawer to retrieve a notepad and pen. _Oh god!_ She spotted her vibrator, not in its usual spot, and cringed knowing that one of the police officers must’ve seen it when they searched her home. _Oh well, some nutter was recording you for months that should be the least of your worries._

Starting in her bedroom, she went room by room making a list of everything that needed to be done. It was two pages by the time she was finished. She felt a pang of regret for declining Greg’s offer.

Molly started downstairs in the reception room. She figured if she could get that one room completed today, at least she would be able to relax and watch television tonight. After a few hours of putting the room back together, as well as doing some cleaning behind furniture that had been moved, she decided she deserved a break.

After freshening up a bit, she headed out to the local pub down the street. There she could have a quiet meal and a glass of wine, and not be surrounded by the mess of her home. Besides, she had not done the shopping today as planned so there was nothing to eat at home, and she was tired of takeaway. This would be like a home cooked meal, except it was cooked by someone else.

The waitress brought her a glass of wine to drink while she waited on her food. By the time the food arrived, Molly had finished her wine.

“Would you like another?” the waitress asked, pointing to her empty glass.

Molly was about to say yes, when she stopped and reconsidered. She had been drinking an awful lot lately. Last night she had managed to sleep through multiple phone calls, Lestrade knocking on her door and ringing the bell, as well as Sherlock’s shenanigans with her neighbor. That was a lot of commotion happening right beneath her bedroom window and knowing she had slept through it all made her feel uncomfortable and ashamed.

“Uh, no, thank you. I will just have a glass of water.”

She made a vow to herself right then that she would take back her life. The darkness could not be allowed to win. Not anymore. She did not want to spend the rest of her life just going through the motions while things happened to her. No, she was going to make things happen.

It would be challenging, but she had to do better and fight for herself. No more drinking and no more sleeping pills. First thing in the morning, she would refill her prescription for her antidepressants and make an appointment with a therapist. Something wonderful needed to come from this terrible episode in her life.

Part of that included letting go of the fantasy she had regarding Sherlock. Now that she had released her heart of the secret it carried, she could truly move on. Not like last time, when her heart was not truly free.

She dug through her bag and pulled out her mobile phone. _Time to face the music, Molly_. She pressed the voicemail icon and tapped on the first message from Sherlock.

 

**_“Molly, it’s me…um…so…”_** his voice sounded nervous, and then he cleared his throat and continued in his usual rapid style of speech ** _._**

**_“Well I just wanted you to know that the police should be coming by today to check your home for cameras and possibly explosives. Don’t be alarmed. Family problem. Long story. The situation has been contained.”_ **

There was a long pause before he cleared his throat again.

**_“Well…that is all……good day,”_** and with that the message ended ** _._**

****

Molly couldn’t help but guffaw. She had not expected for the bastard to act like nothing happened. Incensed, she debated with herself whether she should even bother listening to the other message.

“Oh, let’s just get this over with,” she muttered under her breath before taping on the next message from Sherlock.

 

**_“Molly, it’s me…again…”_** his voice now sounded sad and forlorn.

**_“What I meant to say…what I wanted to say is that…phone call…I thought I was going to lose you forever and……you are so very precious to me,”_** the last words coming out in an unsteady rush, his breathing heavy as if he were fighting back tears. He exhaled loudly before continuing.

**_“Throughout my life I’ve relied on logic and facts. I believed them superior to everything else. That sentiment, in particular love, was nothing more than simple chemistry, a defect found on the losing side,”_** his voice was stronger now, certain.

There was an extended silence before he spoke again, **_“However, I was theorizing without any real data. I confess that I have been blind. Not for too long, I hope. But it is better to learn wisdom late than to never learn it at all, and what I have learned is that the heart is more powerful than the mind. I do not believe that I lost, but instead that I have won. As it turns out I am capable of human emotion. Once again, I have you to thank for that, Molly Hooper.”_**

The message ended, and the phone went silent. Her mouth agape, silent tears rolled down her cheeks as the mobile slipped from her grasp and landed with a thud onto the tabletop.


	13. Raindrops

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What does Molly do after hearing that message?

Molly had planned on returning home after she finished her dinner. First she would take a long, hot bath using the expensive bubble bath she was gifted by her Secret Santa at Christmas. Then she’d put on her coziest pajamas and cuddle up with Toby on the sofa while they watched her favorite movie, _The Notebook._ On second thought she realized a different movie would probably be better. Maybe a comedy or a zombie flick instead. She always did love a bit of gore.

But that message changed everything.

She felt like her world had been turned topsy turvy. Into what alternate universe had she stumbled? Because the universe she lived in did not include declarations of love by Sherlock Holmes. Romantic entanglements were not his area.

As she reached the corner of her street, her feet did not make the left towards home. Instead they turned right, seemingly of their own accord. Nightfall was looming, and the sky had turned dark from rain clouds overhead.

She should have turned around. She should have gone home and carried on with her evening as planned. She didn’t even have an umbrella with her.

Lost in her thoughts, she wandered through the streets of London. While she had no particular destination in mind, her heart had set its course.

Molly had learned through experience that hope created expectations that reality rarely fulfilled. Hope was more often cruel than it was kind. But, didn’t she have good reason to be hopeful now?

Her feet came to a stop, arriving at her heart’s intended destination. Suddenly, she realized she was on Baker Street, standing in front of Sherlock’s door. The windows above were shattered, and part of the facade was charred. By instinct she reached for the door, then stopped.

_Why am I here? This is ridiculous._

She turned around and began the journey back home, ignoring the nagging voice that was urging her to go back. To open that door and take the stairs up to Sherlock’s flat.

The skies were growing darker with each passing minute. Tiny droplets of moisture hit her face as the dark clouds started to seep. The possibility she would make it home without getting soaked seemed unlikely.

She stood at the curb and pulled out her phone to call for a cab, not wanting to take her chances that one would drive past by happenstance. As she pulled up the cab company’s phone number, a wave of sadness and regret took her by surprise. Something, a premonition perhaps, told her this was not how her evening was supposed to end.

With an unsteady hand, she scrolled through her contacts. She took a deep breath and dialed Sherlock’s number instead.

 

**XXX**

 

Sherlock bolted upright in his bed, awakened by a ringing sound from the other room. With a yawn, he scratched his head, trying to clear the thick fog that covered his mind.

_What time is it? What day is it? Why is the bathroom ringing? Did I put the doorbell in there?_

“Phone!” he shouted in recognition with a snap of his fingers. He stumbled out of bed, his wobbly legs unprepared for the sudden movement. Snatching the phone off the bathroom counter, his eyes struggled to focus on the screen.

_Molly!_

His heart soared and he quickly pressed the button on the screen to answer the call. He suddenly became aware of the fact that he was stark naked and grabbed a hand towel to cover his genitals, as if Molly could see him through the phone.

“Molly? Is that you?” he answered, unable to hide the nervous excitement in his voice.

“Hello Sherlock,” her voice was soft, soothing.

“Are you all right?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine. How...uh, did I wake you?” she asked

“No,” he lied. “I was already awake.”

Molly smiled knowing full well he was not being truthful. “You sure?” 

Why did he feel so awkward and anxious? This was Molly for God’s sake. He cleared his throat before continuing, hoping to calm his voice. “Yes. Where are you? Home? Work?”

Sleep had done nothing to alleviate the unrelenting ache in his chest. He was still desperate to see her, to confirm with his own two eyes that she was well and safe.

Molly laughed softly. “Actually, I’m on Baker Street. I don’t know why I’m here, really. I was just heading home and...I...Mycroft told me about the explosion. Are you staying with John?”

“No. I’m here. For now, at least,” he replied, rushing back into his room and grabbing a white shirt and dark trousers.

“What?”, she asked, incredulous. Had she known? Had he said on the message he would be at Baker Street? She was certain he had not.

He fumbled trying to pull his trousers on his legs, holding the phone between his ear and shoulder. “Don’t go! Please do not go! I’ll be right down!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I have not been updating as frequently. I had a problem with the file and had to start over. Plus, I've been struggling with my own depression so I couldn't get my mind into it. 
> 
> But the good thing is that this part was not originally planned and I like it. Also, two chapters. I was going to do one but it was getting pretty long. :)


	14. The Kiss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Well, I think the chapter title sums it up.

Sherlock disconnected the call and tossed his mobile on the bed. Hastily he zipped up his trousers, then pulled on the white shirt, buttoning it as he ran down the stairs. He flung open the front door and stepped out onto the cold pavement, realizing that he had neglected to put on shoes...and socks...and underwear as well.

The sidewalk was filled with pedestrians, and he quickly scanned the crowd for Molly. He spotted her halfway down the block, zipping up her oversized green coat. Sherlock’s shoulders sagged as he let out a breath he had been holding for the past two days. His lungs took in large gulps of air, relief running through his veins.

She looked so small and alone standing there by herself. Had she always been so small? A feeling of protectiveness grabbed at him. He wanted to run to her, scoop her up, and...

When she finally looked up and their eyes met, he could not hold back the goofy grin that spread across his face. He did not care that the sidewalk was full of people or that he looked ridiculous. He ran to her, bare feet slapping against the wet pavement, pushing past people on the sidewalk.

“Sorry! Pardon me!” he shouted to the random strangers.

“Sherlock!” Molly called out in surprise. “What are -”

Her words were cut off as Sherlock grabbed her, wrapped his arms around her and lifted her off the ground in his strong embrace. Instinctively, Molly’s arms went around his shoulders, her face pressed against the cool fabric of his shirt, his dark curls tickling her cheek.

“Molly,” he croaked, pulling her as close as possible, yet it still was not close enough. Never had he felt such happiness. He squeezed his eyes shut and buried his face in her hair, inhaling her scent. She smelled like freesia, and fresh rain, and everything that was good in the world.

He slowly lowered her to the ground and let go of his tight hold, instantly missing the warmth of her body and the feel of her in his arms. In all the years they had known one another, he had never hugged her. Not once. He had kissed her cheek a few times and held her hand on rare occasions. But a hug? Never.

Now he understood why. 

He smoothed the hair away from her face and cupped her head in his large hands, thumbs gently caressing the damp skin on her cheekbones. His eyes roamed over her face, taking in every scant detail and committing it to memory. It was as if he were seeing her for the first time.

“You’re all right?” he asked softly, his blue eyes filled with affection and tenderness.

All Molly could do was nod in affirmation, feeling as if she would burst from all the intense emotions that were swelling within her. _Just breathe, Molly._

He pressed his forehead to hers and inhaled. Pulling back slightly, he softly kissed the dimple on her cheek, her temple, then her forehead. His lips lingered, moving softly against her skin as he spoke. “Please forgive -”

Molly interrupted, her voice unsteady, “Sherlock, there’s nothing to forgive. I…I don’t know why, exactly, but from what your brother told me it’s not hard to figure out. Your…sister? That seems so weird to say,” she chuckled.

His hands moved down from her face and gripped her shoulders. “Yes, these past days have been surreal.”

“She watched me. She…threatened me?” Molly continued, still somewhat confused by the entire situation.

Sherlock squeezed his eyes shut and looked at the ground between their feet. His mind thought back to that room, that coffin, the terror he had felt. “Yes, and I will tell you everything you want to know. Everything.”

Opening his eyes, he looked up and met hers again, his face somber. “But, you also need to tell me everything,” he continued.

Molly drew a sharp breath. There was a silent pause, then she nodded her head to acknowledge she understood. He was going to bring her inside, give her the grand tour of his dark corners, his broken parts, his scars, and everything else he hid from the rest of the world. In turn, she needed to do the same. Once he had trusted her with his life, and it was time that she trusted him fully.

The light sprinkles of rain were steadily increasing, dampening their hair and clothing. Sherlock reached around Molly’s shoulders, and tucked her long hair into her coat, before pulling the hood over her head.

 _Oh my god._ Molly feared she might swoon. A rush of warmth spread through her body, feeling cherished by his sweet gesture. She closed her eyes, and did the one thing that she had yearned to do for so very long. She wrapped her arms around his torso and leaned her head against his chest, feeling the heat of his body through his wet shirt and the steady drum of his heartbeat in her ear.

He returned the embrace and kissed the top of her head. “Let’s get you home,” his deep voice rumbled.

With a sigh, she tightened her hold on him. She never wanted this wonderful moment to end, feeling more safe and secure than she had in years. _I am home._

Sherlock rubbed his hands down her back and sighed contentedly, “Or we could just do this.”

The darkness began to slowly creep into her mind. That taunting voice reminding her of all her insecurities and fears. She tried to push it away and not let it ruin the moment. She was so exhausted with this constant battle, of being robbed of her happiness. Frustrated, something inside of her cracked and she could not stop the emotions from pouring out.

Sherlock’s feeling of content turned to worry as he realized she was crying. Had he done something wrong? Had he messed this up before it had even begun?

He tilted her chin upwards, concern evident in his eyes. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s...just...it’s…” she struggled to find the words that would explain. “I’m a mess. Really. A proper mess.”

She pulled back from his embrace and wiped at her eyes. “I know this,” she gestured between the two of them, “is...not you. I mean…”

Panic was rising in his chest. What the hell happened? Everything was wonderful a minute ago. “People can change their mind.”

“Right. Of course,” she took in a deep breath. “But...maybe I’m not…”

“What?” 

How could she tell him that she was afraid he would change his mind again? That he would find her too boring, or ridiculous, or needy and he would realize why he had avoided romantic relationships for so long.

The words would not form in her mouth. So, like always, she composed herself and pretended everything was fine.

“I’m sorry. I’m just...it really has been an awful day.”

Sherlock tilted his head, deducing her. “One of the worst, I’m sure,” he offered with a sad smile. She was being evasive, but now was not the time to push. Instead, he pulled her back into his embrace. “After all, you had breakfast with my brother.”

Molly laughed and wiped at her eyes. “I’m beginning to think I lucked out being an only child.”

“I find myself a bit jealous, actually,” he replied and they both laughed.

The rain had not let up, but neither one of them made a move to retreat inside. Instead they stared at one another, fixated. Nervous energy hummed between them.

Droplets of water hung from Sherlock’s curls and slid down his face. His eyes dark and hungry with desire, but also uncertain, searched hers for permission to a question he was too timid to ask.

Molly’s eyes lingered at Sherlock’s mouth, wondering what it would be like to taste the rain on his lips. She brought her fingers to his mouth, lightly outlining the shape of his cupid’s bow, touching the scar at the corner of his mouth. Her nimble fingers ran along the plump, velvety skin of his bottom lip, nudging them to part.

He watched her, transfixed. His skin was burning beneath his sodden clothes. The constant noise of his mind had gone blissfully silent. His tongue darted out, brushing against the tips of her fingers.

With a shudder, she stood on tiptoe and closed the distance between them. Her eyes fell closed as she softly brushed her lips against his plush mouth.

It was barely a kiss, yet it made his lips tingle, aching for more. Their mouths hovered, breaths coming out in short gasps. Desire and fear battled within him. He had never wanted this before, but now he was desperate. He tried to calm himself and regain control, but it was no use.

For the briefest moment everything slowed to a stop. Then with a crack of lightning the clouds unleashed a torrent of water. Molly started to pull away to run for cover, but Sherlock grabbed her face and pressed his lips firmly against hers. Molly moaned, surprised at his sudden passionate kiss. His mouth was ravenous as he claimed hers over and over again. Intoxicated by his taste, her mind woozy, she clutched at his shirt to steady herself.

His hands slid down to her waist and pulled her flush against him. She reached for a fistful of hair and deepened the kiss, sucking his tongue into her mouth. He let out a noise that was somewhere between a whimper and a moan.

Molly could feel a bulge harden against her and immediately realized where they were and what they were doing. Reluctantly she pulled away from him, her breathing labored. His mouth hung open, looking at her with confusion. “We should really get inside before we’re arrested for public indecency,” she said over the sound of the rain, gasping for air.

Sherlock laughed and brushed his hair off his forehead. Arousal coursed through her at the sight of him in his soaked shirt, his sinewy muscles showing through the fabric. She bit her lip, trying to ignore the throbbing between her legs.

“Come on,” he said, reaching out his hand for hers. Together, they dashed down the sidewalk to 221B.  


	15. Cowards

They ran inside, hand in hand, laughing like two giddy teenagers. Just as Sherlock closed the door firmly behind him and turned around, Molly pressed him against it. Her cheeks were flushed, pupils dilated, and she had a wicked gleam in her eyes he had never seen before.

He had been afraid that she would never look at him again without disdain. Maybe not look at him at all. Now...now she looked at him with love and lust wrapped up together. He was both grateful and a bit frightened.

No one had ever wanted him before this way. They wanted the persona he presented to the world. Sherlock Holmes, the celebrity detective with the funny hat. Molly just wanted him. All of him.

“Now where were we?” he purred, banishing the doubts from his mind. His hands bunched the fabric of her coat in his hands, pulling her close.

Molly raked her nails through his hair, eliciting a groan from Sherlock. “I believe I was right about here…” she whispered, meeting his mouth.

Their kisses were tender and languid at first. Teasing. Comforting. Enjoying the way their mouths fit together and the warmth that spread throughout their bodies.

Sherlock could not get enough of her lips. Her perfect, pink lips. How had he ever thought them to be small? They were soft. Delectable.   

Their kisses grew deeper, longer. Control was slipping from his grasp. All those urges he had suppressed for so long could be suppressed no more.

She was driving him absolutely mad. Overwhelming his senses. Every moan, every sigh. The scrape of her nails against his scalp. The way she smelled. The taste of her lips. He growled as a vision of tasting her other lips flashed through his mind.  

Soon their kisses turned wanton and urgent. Tongues tangled together. Teeth nibbled on bottom lips. She thrusted her hips against his, the door knob digging into his backside. 

He surmised that she was wearing entirely too much clothing. There were far too many layers of fabric between them. Something needed to be done about that. He wanted her closer. His body ached to feel the warmth of her skin, her breasts pressed against his chest. Hands trembling he pulled down the zipper of her coat and slid his hands around her ribcage.

Molly’s breath hitched as his lips trailed down her neck, nipping and sucking at the ivory skin. When his lips found the sensitive spot at her collar bone she gasped, wetness pooling between her thighs. “Oh god,” she cried out.

He adjusted his stance, moving his leg between her thighs. The pressure of his leg against her swollen core made her entire body shudder. With one hand tangled in his hair, she moved the other down his wet shirt, stopping at the waistband of his trousers.

“Molly,” he rasped against her skin, voice thick with arousal as her fingers moved from his waistband down to his...

“Sherlock, is that you?” the cheerful voice of Mrs. Hudson called from behind them.

She may as well have dumped a bucket of ice water on the two of them. Shocked, they both gasped loudly and pulled away from each other.  

“Dammit,” Molly muttered, wiping at her mouth, absolutely frustrated by the interruption.

Sherlock was not any happier. He clasped his hands in front of him, trying to conceal the erection that was quite visible under his wet trousers.

“Oh it is you! And Molly too! So, nice to see you dear,” hands clasped and smiling, she walked towards Molly and kissed her cheek. Molly faked a smile, trying to hide her annoyance.

Mrs. Hudson did a double take at the sight of Sherlock in his wet clothing. “What have you done to yourself young man? Don’t you know to come in from the rain? Look at you dripping water all over my floor,” she tutted at him, and smacked his arm.

“I was on my way upstairs to change,” he offered, slightly out of breath. He cleared his throat and walked towards the stairs. “If you’ll excuse me.”

“Is that so? Looked to me like you were about to shag Molly in my entry hall.”

Sherlock’s foot stopped on the first step, hand tightly gripping the railing. Gritting his teeth, he took a deep breath. His throbbing cock was quite angry at being cock blocked by Mrs. Hudson. He bit back his scathing retort, determined to regain some control over himself.

At that moment, Molly was absolutely certain her face was the same bright red as a tomato. She just wanted to find a hole to crawl into and never come out again. What had she seen? How long had she been watching them? Although she was close to 40, she felt like a teenager who had been caught by a parent with a boy in her room.

“I’m sorry Mrs. Hudson,” she offered in apology.

“Oh, don’t you worry now,” she said with a wink at Molly. “It’s about time. Although with the state of things upstairs I would recommend a hotel.”

  


**XXX**

 

The steady pitter patter of rain was the only sound inside the cab as it drove through the London streets. They sat together in uncomfortable silence, occasionally stealing glances at one another.

The spell had been broken.

They should have ran upstairs to his flat together, pausing every third step to kiss. He should have carried her into his bedroom. She should have wrapped her legs around him. They should have stripped one another of their clothing and fallen in to bed together. He would have kissed every inch of her. She would have done the same. They could still be there if they had, making love.

They had not done any of those things.

Should have. Would have. Could have. 

Molly stayed downstairs talking to Mrs. Hudson while Sherlock went upstairs to change. He had waited a bit, hoping she would come up, listening to the sounds of their voices floating up the stairs. To his disappointment, she never came.

Molly knew she should have followed him up the stairs. She tried to convince herself that she was just being sensible. This had all been a bit of a whirlwind after all. Taking a step back to clear their heads was a good thing, wasn’t it?

_Coward._ She had let her nerves and her insecurities get the better of her. The man she had always wanted was hers for the taking, and she had turned into the timid mouse.

By the time Sherlock came downstairs, the air had changed. Grown cold. Molly was distant and awkward towards him. He felt that ache in his chest again.

Should have. Would have. Could have.

Their mutual regret at their inactions created a nervous tension between them, neither one knowing what to say to the other.

For Sherlock, the fact that he was woefully lacking experience in this area was weighing on his mind. The experience he did have was from a brief liaison several years ago and the woman, The Woman, had been the aggressor.

He understood the mechanics. He understood lust and primal attraction. The need for physical release.

Intimacy. Romantic love. He had absolutely no experience with either. He never expected to find himself in this position. Would instinct be enough? Would he be enough for her, or would he disappoint her in this area as well?

Unable to stand it any longer, Molly broke the silence first, “Everything okay?”

“Yes!” he answered a bit too loudly. “Why...why wouldn’t it be?”

“I dunno,” she shrugged her shoulders, unable to meet his eyes. “You have had a pretty rough go of things lately.”

Yes, how could he forget. “I need to speak to Mycroft tomorrow and find out where things stand. I should also start making arrangements for my flat. I don’t want to wear out my welcome.”

“It’s fine, Sherlock. Really. Although I should warn you…”

“What?” he asked, a hint of panic in his voice.

Relieved that they were both talking, even if it wasn’t what they should be discussing, she continued “Well, it’s a bit of a mess from the search they did earlier today. I hadn’t finished sorting it out.”

“As long as a bomb didn’t go off, I don’t think I’ll mind.”

The cab came to a stop in front of Molly’s house. Sherlock paid him and exited the cab, taking Molly’s hand to help her out. He could see a light turn on next door and smiled.

“By the way, I had a little row with your neighbor. That Abernathy woman.”

Giggling, she unlocked the front door and pushed it open, “Ah yes, she told me all about it.”

“I did absolutely nothing to justify her outrageous behavior,” he said with an exaggerated roll of his eyes.

“Of course you didn’t.”

Once they stepped inside Sherlock took a look around, shocked by the state of her home. She had always kept it so neat and tidy. Except for the past few months. Her depression was to blame for that. But this...this was a disaster, even by his low standards.

“Did they really leave it like this?” he asked as he made his way up the stairs.

Molly followed behind him. “Yes, but it’s not their fault. I told them to go.”

“What for? You should not have to deal with all of this.”

“I just,” she looked down at her hands, picking at the dry skin on her cuticles. “I just wanted to be alone.”

“If you want me to go -”

“No! Of course not,” she looked up and smiled. “Make yourself at home. I, uh, I need to take a shower. I never had a chance this morning.”

_Go with her. Go with her now. Do all the things you should have done earlier you bloody fool._

“I’ll just put the kettle on.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the comments! I hope everyone is staying cool. It has been miserably hot here...115 today. I can’t sleep, but hopefully that means I’ll make more progress on getting this thing finished.


	16. Reindeer Pajamas

Molly stood wrapped in an oversized yellow towel, looking over the contents of her open pajama drawer. She really wished she had done laundry. Why had she let things go for so long? The only thing clean was a pair of red flannel Christmas pajamas with reindeer and snowflakes.

W _ell, these should do the trick. Absolutely no possibility he will want to have sex now._

She looked around her bedroom and chuckled. She needn’t worry about moving too fast. Nothing remotely sexual was going to take place tonight with her room in such a state of disarray. His flat had been blown up and her place had been ransacked. They were quite the pair.

With a groan she took the pajamas out of the drawer and set them on her bed, removing her towel. Just then there was a light knock at her bedroom door.

"Molly?” came Sherlock’s voice from outside the door. “Can I come in?”

“Uh, just give me a second,” she answered and wrapped the towel around herself again. She scurried about the room, trying to quickly tidy up, tossing as much as she could in the wardrobe. It looked slightly better than before.

She opened the door, clad in only a towel, her long hair pulled up into a messy bun. Her ivory skin was flushed pink from the hot shower, small wet tendrils of hair clung to her neck. Sherlock blinked rapidly, struggling to speak. He looked down at the two cups of tea in his hand and held one out to her. “I...made tea,” he offered.

Molly took the cup of tea, noticing a slight tremble in his hands, “Oh, thank you.”

She looked at him expectantly, waiting for him to say something. Anything. Instead he just stared at her, cup of tea in his hand, chewing on his lower lip.

“Did you want to sleep in here tonight?” she inquired, hoping he would say yes. They weren’t going to have sex. Absolutely not. She needed to be sensible about this.  

“Yes!” he answered, a bit too loudly, shoving his free hand into his coat pocket. “Well, as long you have no objections. I don’t want to seem...presumptuous.”

“No, of course not,” she giggled nervously. “It’s not like we haven’t done this before…” she waved her hand in the air, motioning towards the bed. “Wait, no...I mean...sleeping. You’ve slept her before. In my bed.” She giggled nervously again, silently chiding herself for sounding like a stuttering idiot.

He didn’t respond and still stood in the doorway to her bedroom, as if he were waiting for something.  _Could this be any more awkward? Why was it so awkward now?_

The top of her towel started to slip free where she had tucked it, and she grabbed hold of it with her free hand to keep it from falling. It was then she noticed he still had his coat on. Brows furrowed, Molly asked, “Are you going somewhere?”

Sherlock looked at her as if she had just asked him a bizarre question. “Noooo...why do you ask?”

“You’re still wearing your coat.”

He looked down at himself, pretending he hadn’t realized he was wearing his coat. He knew full well he was wearing it, and for good reason. It was helping to conceal the situation in his nether region.

Molly couldn’t help but smile at his fake display, “Do you want to come in?”

Without saying a word, Sherlock brushed past her as he walked into the room, the wool of his coat rubbing against her bare skin. That was all it took to send shivers down her spine and start to rethink her idea that they should take things slow.

He sat down on the foot of her bed, eyeing the cheerful Christmas pajamas.  _Reindeer? Christ._

She walked towards the bed and picked up the pajamas, clutching them against her. “I’m a bit behind on the laundry.”

He still had not removed his coat, both hands wrapped around the cup of tea. “Why is it so awkward now?” he whispered.

Molly sighed, shoulders slumped. She fingered a button on the pajamas in her hands, too nervous to look at him. “Maybe we just got carried away earlier and moved a bit too fast.”

He ran his hand up and down his thigh, considering her words. “I rather enjoyed it. Did...did you...uh enjoy it?” he asked nervously.

“Yes! Of course!”

She could see the relief in his face, even though he was looking down. She had never thought of him as timid or shy, quite the opposite. But now, his demeanor was making her heart ache. She wondered if he had any experience with these things. As long as she had known him he had been single, or at least that is what she thought. Maybe there had been someone, or maybe there was someone before they became acquainted. 

“Have you...ever been with a woman before? I know that Jane or Julie,” she pretended as if she did not remember the woman’s name. Jeanine, the pretty bridesmaid. Jeanine, the one who was by Sherlock’s side for most of the wedding. Jeanine, the one to whom he tossed his boutonniere. Miss He Made Me Wear the Hat. Miss Seven Times a Night. She definitely remembered her name. Jeanine.

“That was all fake...right?”

“Of course,” Sherlocked scoffed at the question, before his face turned remorseful. “Not my proudest moment.”

He looked back down at his cup of tea before continuing, “There was...someone else. A few years ago.”

The satisfaction she had felt at his confirmation that he had never been with Jeanine evaporated. Molly’s heart sank. Christmas. The moaning, breathy texts. The woman who liked to play games. The woman he identified in the morgue by not her face. Memories of that disappointment filled her head. She took in a painful breath.

“The dominatrix?” she asked, timidly. Molly had looked her up after her identification had been confirmed. Irene Adler. She had quite the website.

Jealousy boiled inside her, ugly and vile. Molly prayed that it was not her. She would rather it have been Jeanine than Irene Adler. Anyone but her. Anyone.

Sherlock closed his eyes and exhaled, ignoring his inclination to change the subject. Being open and forthcoming was not an easy adjustment. “Mmmmm...yes. Sort of.”

 _Oh god._  Tears threatened to spill. Tears for feelings she had no right to feel. He was not hers, and she had dated other people during that same period. Still, she felt wounded, rejected. She eyed him suspiciously. “Sort of? How can you...sort of?”

He exhaled again, loudly, before looking up at her and meeting her eyes. “It was...,” struggling how best to explain the situation with The Woman. “It was adrenaline. Excitement. Primal attraction. Not like this.”

Her face flashed in anger and Sherlock knew he had misspoke. “No! Not…I don’t mean…” feeling panicked, his eyes wide. He shouldn’t have said anything, or at least not this much. He should have just said yes and left it at that. Why was her telling her all of this? This was one secret he should have kept.

His shoulders slumped, and he ran a hand across his forehead. “It was just sex. A one off. It didn’t mean anything.”

Molly’s temper cooled as she absorbed his words. She kept telling herself over and over that she had no reason to be hurt. She was just being insecure and silly. They weren’t a couple then. Were they even a couple now? It had only been a few hours.  

He continued, “She still texts me, but I don’t respond. Well, sometimes. Try not to. Everyone gets lonely and bored at times. But, I haven’t seen her since that night.”

A silent moment passed.

“I could never trust her. I could never love her,” almost choking on those last two words. “I love you, and I think I've always loved you. I’m sorry it took me so long to arrive at that conclusion while you loved me without reciprocation.”

_Oh, sod it._

Molly threw the pajamas on the floor and walked over to him. She took the cup of tea out of his hands, setting it alongside hers on the floor. When she stood up, she moved to stand between his splayed legs, her thighs pressing against the inside of his.

She cupped his face to look up at her, the vulnerability in his eyes making her heart ache again. He was hers, all hers. 

Usually it was his tall stature towering over her petite frame. Something about this change in dynamic made her feel powerful, confident, aroused. She was in control here.

His heart beat faltered at the hungry look in her brown eyes. Breathing heavily, his chest rose up and down beneath his coat. Arousal spiked, heat spread throughout his body. Droplets of sweat beaded on his forehead, the back of his neck, above his lips.

Staring into his eyes, she took hold of his trembling hands and brought them to her lips. She placed a soft kiss on each knuckle, thumbs caressing his skin. Without breaking their heated gaze, she turned his right hand in hers and kissed the pulse point on his wrist, rhythmically vibrating against her lips.

The feeling from earlier returned, that madness. Panting, he tried to swallow it down, but failed. She was driving him crazy, overwhelming him with desire to consume her.

The mischievous glint in her eyes tells him she knows exactly how she is affecting him.

 _Oh Molly._ His worries from earlier disappeared. He would not disappoint her. Oh no. He would do anything she wanted, wear himself ragged to please her if that’s what it took.

His legs tightened around her, and the front of her thigh brushed against the hardness in his pants. He hissed out a sharp breath, surprised by the sudden contact. Sherlock pressed his forehead against her chest, wanting to touch her but unable since she still held his hands. “I want you,” he managed, his voice rough. 

Molly sighed contentedly with a sly smile. She moved his hands down to the top of her towel, placing them against the terrycloth. “Take it off, Sherlock,” she commanded.

 


	17. The Interrupting Woman

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m so very it has been so very long since I updated this story. My mom is seriously ill and life has been chaos.
> 
> But now I need a distraction, so I’m back at it. Several chapters to post.

**Chapter 17**

 

Time seemed to stretch on for an eternity as he remained frozen in place, head pressed against her chest, hands where she had placed them. A painful lump had formed in his throat as he realized the true weight of this moment. She stood before him, offering her body. If he accepted, the nature of their relationship would be forever changed. He would be forever changed. So worried about the physical aspect and being able to please her, he had not taken time to fully consider the emotional aspect.

 

He’d had sex before. But this...this was entirely different. Never before had he allowed this closeness, this level of intimacy with another person.

 

And it scared the hell out of him.

 

If he let his fear of intimacy get the better of him...their relationship would be irreparably damaged. There would be no way to ease the hurt of her broken heart. She would remove herself from his life permanently, of that he had no doubt. And he had no doubt it would drive him into a deep, dark pit of despair to lose a love people search for their entire lives and never find.

 

His stubborn logical side was waging battle with the desires of his heart and body. He could picture exactly what should come next. Soft caresses, moans of pleasures, their sweat covered bodies melding into one. He ached so terribly for her warmth and her love. For the things he had denied himself for far too long.

 

But that voice in his head, going a thousand miles a minute, would not shut up long enough so he could make the move that would turn his fantasy into reality.  _Stop this. Stop this at once. You need to leave. From this room, from this house, from this woman. You must leave right now. Right NOW. Leave and don’t look back. Do not look back. This is not you. Not. At. All. You’re Sherlock Holmes. You’re mysterious, detached, and unattached. Girlfriends are not your area. Sex is not your area. The two together is most definitely NOT your area. What were you thinking?!_

 

Molly’s fingers raked through his hair, attempting to smooth the wild curls. One particularly obstinate curl kept springing out of place. _Even his hair is difficult_. She pressed tiny kisses along his hairline, breathing in the woodsy scent mixed with rain water. “Sherlock?” she prodded, but received no response other than the sound of his breathing.

 

“If...if you’ve changed your mind,” she stammered. As she had waited for him to move, to speak, to do anything, the confidence she felt earlier had evaporated. She was now feeling particularly silly. “I understand. It’s all right. Really.”

 

Molly’s sweet voice managed to briefly silence the manic ramblings in his mind. He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close, comforted by the steady staccato of her heart beating against his cheek, the feel of her hands in his hair. He wasn’t going to screw this up. No. He just needed to…

 

“ _Ahhhh_ ”

 

Irene’s text alert emanated from his pocket, filling the air in the room and desecrating the private moment.

 

 _Oh. My. God._ Sherlock blinked rapidly as his mind scrambled to switch gears. This was bad, he knew. Really, really bad.

 

“Oh god,” Molly pushed back from his embrace, crimson spreading across her face and neck. As she did so, the towel loosened and slid to her waist, exposing her breasts before she caught it with one hand.

 

Sherlock whimpered as she stepped back, catching a quick glance of her naked body before she awkwardly covered herself and refastened the towel. He balled his hands into fists and clenched his jaw, frustrated by the sudden turn of events. This could not be happening. This simply could not be happening.

 

First Mrs. Hudson. Now, The Woman. He wondered if a schedule had been created so everyone could take a turn interrupting them as some sort of joke. Who next?

 

“Molly, it’s not-“

 

“Ohgodohgodohgod,” she cried over his protests. How could she have been so foolish? He told her that Irene still texted, which didn’t seem so bad. But hearing that text alert let her know things were still intimate between them, and it brought back all those feelings from years ago. Humiliation, heartbreak, and finally acceptance that there was another woman he wanted. A beautiful, sophisticated, sexy woman who was the opposite of her in every way. A woman whose texts were alerted with a personalized, sultry sound. It didn’t take a detective to know how that sound was recorded.

 

No wonder he had hesitated. He still wanted the other woman. Once again she felt so insecure and stupid. Except this time was so much worse. This time she was practically naked and throwing herself at him.

 

“Molly, Molly, stop,” he tried to interrupt her panicked frenzy. He should’ve left his coat downstairs. He should’ve turned off his phone, or muted it at least.

 

“ _Ahhhh_ ”

 

Her text alert noise sounded from his coat pocket again. _Oh for Christ's sake!_ How was this happening?!

 

“Molly, it’s-” he started and rose from the bed, holding his hands up in defense. He really hadn’t done anything wrong, but when they talked about her mere moments ago he could see that something about The Woman hurt Molly.

 

“No,” Molly held the towel to her body with one hand, the other shooing him away. “Back. Sit. Down.”

 

“Am I supposed to bark too?” Sherlock asked as he sat back down on the bed, his features clouded in annoyance. “Want me to fetch your slippers?”

 

What was she doing? Years she had loved him with no hope of having those feelings returned. Then, the minute he supposedly reciprocates her feelings, she just jumps right in with both feet. No questions. No discussion. Here she was, seconds from hopping into the sack with him.

 

“Thisisabadidea,” she rushed out, making it all one word.

 

“What?!” he exclaimed flabbergasted, his blue eyes wide in shock. “Bad idea? How is this a bad idea? I thought this is what you wanted?”

 

“But is this what you want?” she wrapped her arms tightly around herself. This was a question that needed to be asked. Had he really taken the time to think this over, or was this just a reaction to recent events?

 

He raised his eyebrows and comically pointed to his crotch. “I think that’s rather obvious,” he replied sarcastically. “But since you failed to notice, why don’t you come-”

 

“That’s not what I mean!” she snapped. For someone whose intelligence sometimes seemed supernatural, he was just a man after all. Thinking with his little head instead of the inflated one on top of his neck.

 

“I want whatever you want.”

 

“Really?” she scoffed. “You haven’t even asked what I want! We, we haven’t even talked about anything.”

 

“Oooookay,” he began, “what do you-”

 

But Molly cut him off before he could finish. “You want a relationship? A girlfriend? And everything that goes along with that?”

 

She took a breath before continuing, her face hot with embarrassment. “And you want it with me?” she asked, steeling herself for his response.

 

“Well...yes,” he hesitated just a beat too long, he knew. From the look on Molly’s face, he also knew it would be his undoing.

 

“Yes. Yes!” he shouted in aggravation, more at himself than her. He understood what went on in relationships, most of which were boring. John and Mary’s relationship wasn’t all that boring, but they had the lying, cheating, secret assassin business to keep things interesting. Maybe they weren’t the best example.

 

What would a relationship with Molly be like? He hadn’t really considered it. He knew that he loved her and that should be all that mattered. The rest would just sort itself out.

 

“Can we just get back to what we were doing?” he whined. He was kicking himself for being such a bloody moron. While he’d been sitting there listening to his stupid brain, it had given time for her insecurities to fester. Insecurities that he had previously encouraged with his careless words, however unintentional.

 

“Sherlock,” she looked to the wall before continuing, knowing that she would not be able to get through this part if she were looking at him. “I know some of what happened yesterday, but not all of it. I do know that you went through something traumatic. You’re hurt and confused, and maybe you’re just reacting to all that. Making yourself believe this is what you want.”

 

“No,” his heart sank. “That’s not what this is.”

 

He’d been worried she would not believe his feelings to be sincere. It had seemed his fears were unfounded, until those text alerts brought them to the forefront. All those years of eschewing sentiment and romantic entanglement were coming back to bite him.

 

“That’s not it at all. I said those words and they just felt…”

 

“ _Ahhhh_ ”

 

“Oh for god’s sake!” Sherlock angrily cursed out loud. He thought her timing could not get worse, but evidently he had been wrong. Hastily he pulled the phone from his pocket and silenced it, just in case The Incredibly Disruptive Woman texted a fourth time.

 

“Molly, I know the timing of these texts is terrible. Really they could not come at a worse moment,” he considered those words for a second.

 

“Well, I guess there could be worse moments. If we were already, you know, engaged in…”  he gestured from his crotch towards hers, “...copulation.”

 

Molly rolled her eyes at him. Did he really just say copulation? Clearly, this was a bad idea. He probably would’ve been cold and formal afterwards, not wanting to engage in post-copulation cuddling, as someone who used the word copulation was bound to do.

 

“But there is nothing between us. I swear,” he put his hand over his heart to communicate his sincerity. 

 

“Then why does she still text you?” Molly asked softly. Tom didn’t text her anymore, and their relationship was much more recent than whatever Sherlock had with The Bashed In Face Woman That Somehow Survived. Unless it was more recent than he indicated. 

 

“She just does, sometimes. It’s nothing.”

 

“Then why haven’t you changed her text alert sound?”

 

Sherlock was dumbfounded by her question. Why hadn’t he changed the sound?

 

“It’s a very simple thing to do, Sherlock.”

 

“It never occurred to me,” he responded with a shrug of his shoulders. “What difference does it make?”

 

“Does anyone else have their own text alert?” she asked, already knowing the answer. Of course no one else had their own text alert. He deleted most people’s texts without even bothering to read them. Including her own.

 

Sherlock closed his eyes and shook his head in disbelief. She had him cornered. “But I didn’t set that text alert. She stole my phone and programmed it that way,” he defended himself, gritting his teeth.

 

“And you left it that way because you enjoy it, don’t you?”

 

“What? No!” he scoffed, ruffling a hand through his hair. “This is ridiculous, Molly!”

 

“And you didn’t change it because she’s special,” Molly leaned down and picked up her pajamas from the floor. She needed to put some clothes on. She couldn’t believe she was having this conversation in a yellow towel.

 

“No! Absolutely not! I told you already that she texts. I told you before we started...you know…”

 

Molly just shook her head at him. “Yes, you told me she texts on occasion. But you did not tell me that she still has the porn sound attached to her texts, indicating that things are still rather intimate between you two.”

 

“Intimate? I haven’t seen her in years and-“

 

“And if she comes back you’d be with her,” she interrupted.

 

“No! Molly, I think you are overreacting to this, just a tad,” he responded squinting his eyes, holding up his thumb and index finger.

 

“Oh! Is that so?” her tone was sarcastic. “I didn’t even mention the part about how you used me to fake her death certificate. Just decided to let that one go. But now that I’m overreacting might as well bring it up.”

 

“I assure you that is absolutely not true. I had nothing to do with that. I would never, ever purposely hurt you and I would never use you.”

 

Molly was tempted to respond with a few examples of times he had most definitely used her feelings for him to his advantage, but bit her tongue in order to not escalate the already heated situation.

 

“But this,” he said, motioning his hand between them, “this all just came about yesterday.”

 

“Exactly. You’re still sorting things out. You haven’t even thought this through. You’re just reacting, and I’m just…”

 

Sad. Lonely. Pathetic. She hung her head, fighting back tears. She had made such a fool of herself. How could she have been so gullible to thinks things were different?

 

“Molly, I know. I know you’re having...difficulties,” he chose his words carefully, not wanting to let on that he had uncovered more than she realized. “But please don’t be angry with me.”

 

“I’m not angry,” she replied as she looked up, her face a mixture of sadness and disappointment. “Really, I’m not,” she shrugged her shoulders and gave him a fake smile.

 

“You’re disappointed with me,” he rested his elbows on his knees and looked down at his hands. The hands that had held here just moments ago. He wished he knew what to say or do to comfort and reassure her without making things worse. He would much rather have her angry with him. He could deal with her anger, that hot temper that seemed to be reserved exclusively for him. But god, how he hated disappointing her. 

 

“No,” she clutched the towel even tighter, worried that it would fall off again and make this moment even more embarrassing. “I’m disappointed with myself. I should’ve known better.”

 

“What does that even mean?” he asked in confusion.

 

“I think we should stop before we do something we regret.”

 

“I would never regret this, Molly,” he spoke earnestly. It was true. Even if she tossed him out right afterwards. He would be upset, heartbroken, but would never feel regret for being with her.

 

Then the other shoe dropped. _Oh._ Now he understood what she meant. He exhaled and shook his head, feeling wounded. “But you would regret it, wouldn’t you?” he asked. “You would regret being with me.”

 

“Sherlock, I, I don’t mean…” she stuttered as he stared at her, hurt and furious. She took a step towards him but he just shook his head and rose from the bed.

 

He stuck his hands in his pocket, feeling the slick case of the traitorous phone that had ruined everything. “I think it would be best if I stayed elsewhere,” he told her, cold and detached. 

 

Molly nodded her head in agreement and walked towards the bathroom, silly Christmas pajamas in hand. She couldn’t even say goodbye to him, or watch him as he left.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the tease, they'll get there. :)


	18. Inebriated

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock gets a bit tipsy, and Molly gets a bit angry.

**Chapter 18**

 

The black cab came to a stop in front of the tony hotel in London’s West End. Sherlock paid his fare and stumbled out of the vehicle, brown paper bag in hand. An eager porter, clad in a dark gray coat and top hat, trotted over ready to take his bags. “Good evening, sir!”

 

“Thank you, but no bags,” he told the man who shot him a knowing look. Sherlock tucked the brown paper bag into his coat pocket and walked through the open hotel doors.

 

If he had been deducing himself, Sherlock would’ve come to the same conclusion as the porter. That he was having an affair and meeting his mistress. Although at this time of night a prostitute was more likely. Why else would a man visit a hotel without any luggage?

 

The real reason was one he would’ve never considered. A man staying at the hotel he had booked for a romantic getaway of sorts, after having a row with the woman who should have accompanied him. What a most unlikely scenario.

 

While Molly had been in the shower, Sherlock had been downstairs further assessing the state of her home, as well as looking for clues as to the state of her mental health. On the kitchen counter he came across two prescription bottles. An empty bottle of anti-depressants that should have been refilled weeks ago. _Well that explains some things._

 

The other bottle filled him with dread. A medication used to treat insomnia, with a high risk of addiction. Thirty pills were filled seven days ago, and the dosage instructions said to take only one at night. A shake of the bottle told him there were more than seven pills missing. He opened the bottle and emptied the contents into his hand. Fourteen pills were gone. That meant she was doubling the dosage.

 

He wanted to run upstairs, drag her out of the shower, and shake some sense into her. How could she do this to herself? How long had she been doing this? If she was combining this with alcohol...the thought just made him sick.

 

**_“You have no idea what you are doing.”_ **

 

Molly had said that to him after the Culverton Smith takedown, when he’d loaded himself on drugs to catch the serial killer. Is this how everyone felt when  he was on drugs? The weight of what he had done to his friends and family, many times over, sank in. He really was a bastard.

 

And yet, in spite of everything, she had always loved him. If she had managed to love him through all of that, then he could do the same. He wasn’t going to get angry with her, because he was certain that would not work. She would just pull away even further and he would not be able to reach her.

 

It hurt him to know how troubled she must be if she was doing this to herself. Somehow, he was going to find a way to help her. He was no expert, but he understood the darker side of the mind having traveled there many times himself.

 

That was when inspiration struck. He would book her a room at a hotel for a few days, possibly longer, so she could relax. Get her mind off everything and away from this place. Away from her self destructive tendencies. Away from being John’s on-call babysitter. It wasn’t a magical cure. It would not fix everything, but it was hopefully a start to getting her back on the right path again.

 

It would take her ages to clean up and repair her home, and that would not help with her state of mind. So while she was away, workers he hired would put her house back in order. It seemed like a good idea. Very practical and helpful.

 

He also had the idea that perhaps this could be a romantic retreat for them. He had never done anything like this before though, and the thought of presenting it to her that way made him feel embarrassed. _Hey Molly, fancy a mini sex holiday?_ Just imagining the conversation made the tips of his ears red. So, he had decided to just stick with relaxing-getaway-while-your-home-is-being-repaired holiday.

 

He searched online through dozens of hotels, many that were quite stylish and posh. But he was looking for something particular. Something that would be comfortable and peaceful. Something that was not over the top fancy, as that would probably make her feel out of place. Something with a potentially amorous atmosphere, but wasn’t overtly obvious. That way it could go either way if she was not interested in a lovers retreat. No vibrating beds or heart shaped hot tubs. Also it could not look as if it had been decorated by his mother, should things turn in his favor. That would feel strange. And it needed to have immediate availability.

 

He had not expected to have such difficulty finding the perfect place. Was it really that tall of an order? To his disappointment the first three he had in mind were booked. Sherlock could not understand why this was so arduous a task when it wasn’t even tourist season.

 

Just as he heard the shower turn off upstairs, he found a hotel that fit the bill and had a vacancy. Of course it was expensive, but that’s what Mycroft’s credit card was for. Not that he couldn’t afford it himself, but he figured Mycroft owed both him and Molly after recent events. And since Mycroft had people to deal with mundane things like paying bills, he would probably never even know.

 

He had planned on surprising her with it when he got upstairs, but then got sidetracked by the sight of her half naked. All those feelings and urges he suppressed for years refused to be contained, disrupting his ability to focus.

 

Now after the argument that had transpired earlier, he had no idea how to proceed. He considered calling John for advice, but then remembered he had not been very good at keeping girlfriends prior to Mary. Best not to ask him.

 

After leaving Molly’s place he phoned the hotel and, as luck would have it, the suite was vacant this evening. He was able to add on another night giving him somewhere to rest his head. With no one around to bother him, he would be able to think and get himself back in order.

 

During the ride to the hotel, he asked the cabbie to pull over at a shop to buy cigarettes. After these past few days he figured he was entitled to at least one...pack. But, once inside the store he found his resolve to remain nicotine free and instead purchased a bottle of whiskey. He needed something to deal with this roller coaster ride of emotions. He had never really cared for alcohol, so the chances of developing a dependency were rather low

 

He indulged in a few swigs during the cab ride, feeling pleasantly tipsy by the time they reached the hotel. As he entered the exquisite hotel lobby, his stomach growled loudly at the delicious food aromas that filled the air. When was the last time he ate?

 

Sherlock followed his stomach to the smells in a plush lounge just off the lobby, where a welcome reception for guests was being held. There was an enormous spread of delectable canapes, desserts, and drinks. He took a plate and piled it high with sausages, crab cakes, chicken skewers, and cheese sconces. He considered his plate for a second then grabbed another from the table, loading it with biscuits, profiteroles, and lemon tarts. He gulped down two shot glasses filled with Baileys chocolate cream, then downed a third for good measure. He balanced his two plates on top of each other and made his way to the front desk.

 

“Checking in?” the blonde haired hotel receptionist asked, eyeing the pile of wobbly plates as he set them down on the counter.

 

“Yesshh, I have a reservation under Holmesssss,” he slurred slightly, then stuffed a biscuit in his mouth. God, he was ravenous.

 

“Oh!” the receptionist brightened, her fair cheeks turning pink. “It’s you! The Hat Detective!”

 

Sherlock wiped the crumbs from his mouth. “You caught me!” he teased and put his hands up, as if in surrender. _Flushed cheeks. Dilated pupils. Sweat on the brow. So very obvious._

 

“Will there be any updates to your blog?” she asked as she typed away on the keyboard.

 

“Well, I’m working on a big case right now,” he said with a wink and eyed her nametag. _Bridget_.

 

“Is that so?” she giggled and smiled shyly. “You know, we do have a penthouse suite available if you like?”

 

“I think that might be a bit out of my price range, _Brid-get_ ,” he replied, and grabbed another biscuit from the plate. “The job of a consulting detective pays well, but not _that_ well.”

 

“No charge for the upgrade,” she offered, fiddling with the buttons on her white blouse.

 

“Oh, I don’t know if I could accept,” he lied, sucking in his teeth. Maybe now this celebrity thing would come in use for something other than attracting diabolical criminals.

 

“Nonsense. You are doing a public service by keeping London safe after all,” she laughed loudly and tossed back her hair. She made a few clicks with the computer mouse and frowned. “The card used for the reservation says Mycroft Holmes?”

 

Sherlock lowered his head and whispered, “I’m unnnndercover.”

 

“Oh!” she smiled and patted his forearm, her hand lingering a few extra seconds. “Will you be staying here alone?”

 

“Ummmmm,” Sherlock moved his head from side to side, considering how to respond.

 

“Well, I’ll give you two key cards, just in case you have a guest,” she giggled, handing him a folder with papers. “We wouldn’t want you to get lonely now would we?”

 

Sherlock chuckled trying to hold his grin. This fake flirting wasn’t as easy as it seemed, not even while buzzed.

 

“Well now, here is the penthouse brochure providing details on all that is included...twenty-four hour butler, chauffered car, fresh flower delivery, complimentary dry cleaning and shoe shine service...well you can read the rest.”

 

 _So much for nothing too fancy._ “Thank you for all your help, Bridget. You have been very, very, very kind. Extraordinary. Stuuuuupendous!” he grinned goofily.

 

“It was my pleasure. Enjoy your evening, sir!”

 

Sherlock clumsily stuffed the brochure in his coat and grabbed his leaning tower of snacks. As he turned round, he lost his footing slightly and almost dropped the plates. “Woah!”

 

“Oh, and one more thing,” Bridget called after him as he tottered away towards the lifts.

 

Very carefully he turned back around, trying not to lose his grasp on the plates. “Yeeeeesss?” he asked.

 

“Let me know if you need an undercover partner,” she answered coyly with a wink.

 

“Will do!” he gave her a cheeky grin and a thumbs up, once again almost dropping his plates.

  


**XXX**

 

Molly lay in bed, staring at the ceiling and absentmindedly picking at her cuticles as she replayed her argument with Sherlock for the umptenth time. It had been foolish for her to believe that he really did love her in that way. She had just been swept up in the fantasy, not thinking rationally about everything.

 

If they had slept together he would realize it was a mistake, more likely sooner rather than later. What if he had realized it right after they finished? Molly could just imagine how he would fumble his way through some half hearted explanation, trying to spare her feelings. No doubt she would have been devastated and mortified.

 

She had done the right thing, putting on the brakes. Those text alerts weren’t so poorly timed after all. They had stopped her from making a huge mistake. Sherlock didn’t want a relationship, and certainly not with her. He was just mixed up, that was all. One day he might even thank her.

 

But that look on his face. She had not wanted to see that cold mask he so often wore, but she did manage a quick peek before he left the room just to reassure herself she had done the right thing. She could not stop seeing it every time she closed her eyes to try and sleep. He looked completely gutted. That couldn’t be over her, could it?

 

Realizing that she would be getting no sleep tonight without the assistance of her pills, she pulled herself out of bed and headed downstairs. Her eyes scanned the counter, but no bottle was in sight. She then rummaged through the drawers in her kitchen, desperately seeking her bottle of sleeping pills. She knew they had been here earlier. She was certain of it. The house was a tip, but she remembered seeing the bottle of pills on the kitchen counter. Where could they have gone? She hadn’t taken any, so she could not have moved them.

 

Out of the corner of her eye she spotted the electric kettle on the counter. Tea. Sherlock had made tea. Had he seen the pills? Had he taken them? He was a drug user, but sleeping pills had never been his style. He typically went for cocaine or morphine. But, maybe he saw an opportunity and took it?

 

 _That bastard!_ Molly was convinced that is what had happened. Sherlock had pilfered her sleeping pills for himself. Of all the rotten...there was no way she was getting to sleep now. Not without her pills, and not while being so bloody angry at that selfish prick. He had just gotten clean again a few months ago!

 

She marched back upstairs in a huff to retrieve her phone and call Sherlock. Phone in hand, she stopped as she was about to dial him. This was not a phone conversation. No, this needed to happen in person so she could slap him. More than once.

 

Instead of dialing Sherlock, she called John. He answered after the second ring.

 

“Molly! Hi, are you alright?” John asked when he answered the phone.

 

“John, hi, yes. Sorry to phone so late.”

 

“No, don’t be sorry. I’m glad to hear from you. I’ve been worried,” John replied, concern evident in his voice.

 

“Oh, no need to worry about me. Are you ok? And Rosie?” she asked.

 

“Uh, yes, we’re both fine. I guess you’ve heard about our encounter with sister Holmes?”

 

“Yes, Mycroft told me a bit about it.”

 

“And Sherlock? Have you seen Sherlock?” John asked, surprised that Molly had mentioned Mycroft before Sherlock. Surely he had gotten a hold of her by now.

 

“Uh, yes, just for a bit,” Molly lied. She contemplated telling John about the pills and her fears that Sherlock was using again, but decided against it. There would be too many questions that she did not have the patience to answer right now. “Is Sherlock there with you?”

 

“No, I just got a text from him. He’s staying at a hotel in Kensington.”

 

 _Well, la de da, his nibs found some posh accommodations for the evening._ “Really? Can you text me the information? Thought I might stop by and check on him.”

 

“Oh course,” John replied, sounding a bit cheerful. “I’m sure he’d like that.”

 

_I’m sure he won’t like it once I’m through with him._

 


	19. Emotional Eating

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock’s drunk and sad, and drowning his sorrows.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I loved drunk Sherlock in The Sign of Three, so decided to have some fun with that.

**Chapter 19**

 

He was still in remarkably good spirits when he arrived at the penthouse, where he was greeted by the personal butler. His name was Henry, a stout man in his fifties with gray hair and bespectacled brown eyes, who looked disapprovingly at the plates of food. “I can arrange something for you to eat, sir,” he offered.

 

“Fantastic!” Sherlock responded as he strode in and dropped the plates on the credenza in the entry hall. “What are my options?”

 

“I will bring you a room service menu.”

 

“Excellent! Looking forward to it,” he walked into the sitting area and took in the surroundings. _Brown squishy sofa. Whitish chairs. Fireplace. Big telly. Some art thing with black and spots. One of those things for looking at stars. Mirrors. So many mirrors. One of those cabinets for booze and stuff._

 

He took off his coat, then remembered the bottle of whiskey in the pocket. He pulled it out and plunked it down loudly on the coffee table, then tossed his coat on an armchair, followed by his suit jacket.

 

“Oh, wait. Food,” he snapped his fingers and stumbled back over to the entryway, where he grabbed his plates from the credenza. Then he returned to the sitting area and flopped down on the sofa. He noshed on crab cakes and sausages while he tried to figure out how to turn on the telly with the rather complicated remote.

 

Giving up, he crossed the room and retrieved his phone from his coat pocket to see what that blasted woman had wanted with all her texts.

 

**_Nice catch with Culverton Smith - IE_ **

 

**_You look sexy unshaven  - IE_ **

 

**_You also look sexy clean shaven - IE_ **

 

 _Thank you so much for ruining my evening with your pointless flirting._ He figured he should inform John of his whereabouts, and shot him a text letting him know he would be staying at the hotel for a few days. Then he went into his phone settings and changed Irene’s text alert to vibrate, that way no alert would sound if she chose to text him again.

 

**_You have the most spectacularly awful timing - SH_ **

 

Almost instantaneously, his phone vibrated with her response.

 

**_Did I catch you in a compromising position? - IE_ **

 

He debated for a moment whether he should text her back, but didn’t feel like continuing, or encouraging, the conversation. She really did not text all that frequently. He hadn’t heard from her since his birthday, and that was two months ago.

 

Henry returned with the in-room dining menu, and Sherlock proceeded to order a cheeseburger with extra chips and two bowls of chocolate ice cream. He was absolutely famished. It felt like he hadn’t eaten in years. Since he did not eat while working, and he worked constantly, it shouldn’t surprise him he felt that way now that he didn’t have work to occupy him.

 

“Mr. Holmes, I noticed you did not have any bags. Would you like me to arrange for laundry and dry cleaning of your clothes? I could also have a personal shopper purchase a few items for you, sir.”

 

“Yes!” Sherlock shouted and jumped up from the sofa, banging into the coffee table. “A couple of these,” he said, grabbing at his button down shirt, “and some...socksssss...pantssss...those would be good. You can have my suit cleaned?”

 

“Yes, sir.”

 

“Oh, wait…” Sherlock pulled on his lower lip, contemplating. “Will I have to walk around _nay-ked?_ I don’t mind,” he gestured to himself, hands splayed on his chest, “but I’m sure you will.” He pointed at the butler and laughed loudly.

 

Henry just looked at him expressionless. “There is a robe in the bathroom, sir,” Henry offered politely.

 

“Oh, perfect! I’ll be out in a jif!” Sherlock staggered a bit, brushing past Henry, then stopped and turned around. “Uh, where is that?” he asked, scrunching up his face.

 

“Right this way, sir. I will give you a tour.”

 

“Wait, hold on,” Sherlock turned back and grabbed the whiskey from the table, removing the lid and taking a drink as he walked out of the room.

 

Sherlock followed the butler through the swanky penthouse, not listening to a word he said as he described the rooms and the various amenities. He felt more and more heartsick with each passing moment. This was supposed to be for Molly, not him. He should be with her right now in her home, in her bed. Not here in this two-story penthouse with Henry the butler.

 

He groaned loudly and desperately clutched the handrail with his left hand, bottle of whiskey in the right, as they ascended the mirror lined stairs to the second floor, where the bedroom and bathroom were located. The two rooms were larger than his entire flat. In the bedroom there was a king sized bed topped with a white goose down duvet and corresponding pillows, decorative toss pillows in shades of red and brown, and a red blanket. An image of Molly laying naked in the middle of the bed flashed in Sherlock’s mind, and he waved a hand in front of his face to shoo the image away.

 

Henry demonstrated how to turn on the fireplace that sat at the foot of the bed, and the image of naked Molly reappeared in his mind. Only this time her fair skin glowed warmly in the light from the fireplace, a coy smile on her red lips beckoning him-

 

“Stop it!” he shouted and squeezed his eyes shut.

 

“I’m sorry, sir,” Henry replied, confused.

 

“No, not you. I mean Mol-, uh, me. Carry on.”

 

Henry looked perplexed, but moved towards the en-suite bathroom with Sherlock following behind. The bathroom was spectacular, all bright white marble and dark wood. High end toiletries and vases of red and orange flowers lined the counter.  There was an enormous walk-in shower, and a clawfoot soaking tub sat in front of a large picture window that looked out over the city.

 

Sherlock stepped into the bathtub and laid down, opening the bottle of whiskey and taking another swig. The cold porcelain felt refreshing against his warm skin. He knew that Molly would have absolutely loved this place. She would have been over the moon and they would have had a wonderful time here together…in the bed, on the sofa, maybe in this amazing bathtub, too.

 

But now...now that was all lost. Thanks to The Woman. Thanks to himself for being an idiot.

 

Now he was just here alone….well, not alone. He had a butler to keep him company. Maybe he should’ve gotten one of those years ago. So much more helpful than John.

 

“Mr. Holmes?” Henry asked. “Are you all right?”

 

“Yes, yessss. Thank you. I just need some privacy,” Sherlock responded, closing his eyes and taking another drink from the bottle.  

 

“Very well, sir. I will let you know when your food arrives,” Henry made way to leave, but Sherlock stopped him with questions.

 

“Are you married? Girlfriend? Boyfriend?”

 

Henry cleared his throat and eyed Sherlock for a moment, beginning to understand the situation at hand. This man was not some rich, hard partying drunk. He was just lonely and heartbroken. “Uh, no. No I am not.”

 

“Good for you!” Sherlock hollered. “Relationships, romance, so much trouble.”

 

“My wife passed away five years ago,” Henry supplied.

 

 _Oh damn! You stepped in it now._ “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean-”

 

“It’s all right, sir.”

 

“My friend,” Sherlock started and took another drink, “his wife died, too. ‘Twas terrible. Terrible.”

 

“I never married. No girlfriend either. Nope. Just me. Alwayssss just me,” Sherlock pointed to himself and took another drink. He thought the whiskey was really quite good. It managed to taste better with each drink. “But I realizzzed something yessshturday, Henry. I. Am. In. Love. Me. Sherrrlock Holmesss. Idiot. Such an idiot.”

 

Henry walked over to the chair in the corner of the bathroom and sat down, listening to Sherlock. “Love can be a wonderful thing.”

 

“Oh, yeaaaaah. Sure. For people like you,” Sherlock pointed at Henry, then pointed at himself. “But not for people like _meeee._  I’m not good at this...stuff. I dunno…I dunno what I’m doing. You see?”

 

“Well no one really does. What’s her name? Or, his name?” Henry asked.

 

“Mol-ly. Hoo-per. Molly Hooper. That’s her name. I love her name, you know that?” Sherlock took another drink before putting the cap back on the bottle.

 

“I’ve always loved her name. Loved saying her name,” he giggled and hiccuped loudly. “Oh god, I should have known. Why else would I like saying her name so much? That’s how you can tell, you know. That’s one of those sign thingys. Romantic attachment thingys. Wanna me to tell you how you can deduce when sssomone is in love, Henry? They say the personsss name. A lot. Eurus knew.”

 

“Mol-ly Hoo-per. It just rollssss off the tongue, donnit?” he continued, “Thisss was for her. Not me. This was sup-posssed to be for her.”

 

“And what happened with Molly Hooper?”

 

“Oh, she is _mad._ Very mad. No, not mad. Sad. Yes, sad. And dissssa...pointed. Yesssh. That’s what. And she doesn’t want me,” Sherlock set down the bottle of whiskey between his legs and ruffled his hair with his hands.

 

“Can you blame her? I’ve been a cock for soooo long. A blind cock. Soooo soooo long. And then The Woman,” he was flailing his arms around as he spoke, his head lolling to one side. “She’s not dead. Should be.”

 

“And my sister. Oh gossssshhh, my sister. Silence of the Lambs, that one. Well, she doesn’t eat people. I don’t think,” he scratched his head, as if trying to remember.

 

“Murdered my bessssst friend. But she’s in prison, yeah. I wanted to murder her,” he moved his hands as if choking someone and bared his teeth. “But no. Murdered a coffin instead. She hurt my Molly. But she’s sad. Soooo sad. And my family...it’s no wonder. No wonder. My brother _caring is not an advantage Sherlock._ What a tit. It’s no wonder. Nope.”

 

Henry just stared at him now, trying to make some sense out of his drunken nonsense, but was at a complete loss. “I’ll leave you to get changed.”

 

“Thank you, Henry, sir,” Sherlock acknowledged as Henry left the room. He curled onto his side and shut his eyes, allowing himself to doze off in the empty bathtub.

 

**XXX**

 

Henry tried to wake Sherlock when his food arrived with no success. He retrieved an ice packet from the freezer and pressed it against Sherlock’s face, the sudden cold shock bringing him out of his stupor. Sherlock sat straight up, “I’m awake, I’m awake,” he repeated over and over.

 

Henry helped him to stand and step out of the tub, then handed him a towel, a black and white dressing gown, and a strong cup of coffee. “Would you like me to set up your meal in the bedroom or downstairs in the dining area?”

 

“Uh, bedroom,” Sherlock replied, unbuttoning his shirt. He gulped down the cup of coffee, which he believed was the best cup of coffee he had ever had in his life. With the prices this place charged, it was no wonder. But, he’d really prefer Molly’s ulcer inducing coffee instead. “Could you bring me my mobile? I believe I left it in the sitting area.”

 

“Of course, Mr. Holmes.”

 

After slipping on the unbelievably soft bathrobe and retrieving the bottle of alcohol from the tub, he clumsily walked out to the bedroom where Henry had set up a portable table with his meal. He lifted the silver domes on each plate, his stomach growling loudly at the mouth watering food. He crammed a couple of chips in his mouth, pushed the table over to the side of the bed, and grabbed the television remote from the nightstand.

 

He browsed the channel lineup for something to watch. _Top Gear. No. The Office. That guy really does have an uncanny resemblance to John. News. No. More news. No. Cooking show. No. People selecting dates based on the appearance of their genitals. Good god, no. Why on earth would anyone appear on that show?_

 

 _When Harry Met Sally._ Mary. That had been one of Mary’s favorite movies. She had made Sherlock watch it with her over and over again during wedding planning. He would never admit it, but it had become a favorite of his as well. He owned a copy on DVD, which was carefully hidden in his flat where no one would find it, not even Mycroft’s goons. No one could ever know Sherlock Holmes watched romantic comedies. He had a reputation to uphold.

 

He climbed onto the bed, fluffing up the pillows for his back, and grabbed the plate with the cheeseburger and chips. “Here’s to you, Mary,” he said, holding the bottle up in the air in toast to the memory of his late friend. He wished Mary was here now. She would know what to do.

 

He devoured the greasy meal while watching the remainder of the movie, drenching the chips in ketchup and taking sips from the whiskey bottle every now and then. He’d moved on to the chocolate ice cream when Sally told Harry she was not his consolation prize. By the time Harry was telling Sally _“when you realize you want to spend the rest of your life with somebody, you want the rest of your life to start as soon as possible”,_ Sherlock was crying between spoonfuls.

 

“You aren’t a consolation prize, Molly,” he sobbed. “I wanted the rest of my life to start as possssibly soon as possssible, too. With you. Just with you.”

 

**XXX**

 

Molly felt out of place when she entered the quiet, and practically empty, lobby of the hotel, clad in her oversized coat, Christmas pajamas, and rain boots. She tried not to marvel at the impressive architecture and decor, so as not to distract herself from what she came her to do, but it was impossible. She had always dreamed of staying in a place like this. Sure, she had taken a few holidays here and there, but never had they included a hotel like this one.

 

“Can I help you?” a blonde woman behind the lobby desk called out to Molly, looking at her strangely. Maybe she should’ve changed out of the Christmas pajamas.

 

“Yes,” Molly responded, smiling brightly. “I’m here to see a friend. Could you tell me the room number?”

 

“A friend?” the woman named Bridget asked, looking her up and down again.

 

“Yes. Last name Holmes.”

 

Bridget gave Molly a contemptuous smirk. “Holmes? We don’t have a guest here by that name. You must be mistaken.”

 

“No,” Molly pulled her phone from her coat pocket and read John’s text again. “He told a mutual friend he was staying here for a few days.”

 

“Well,” Bridget replied in a condescending tone, “I’m sure if he wanted to see you, then he would have told you the room number.”

 

“There’s no need to be rude,” Molly said, her hackles raised. Sure, she did not look like the usual clientele of such an establishment, but that was no reason for this woman to talk to her in such a way.

 

Bridget opened a drawer and grabbed a walkie talkie. “This is a five star hotel. You wander in here in the middle of the night, looking like a street urchin, wanting the room number for a local celebrity. As if I’m really supposed to believe you two are friends. Have you lost the plot? Forget your crazy pill today?”

 

Molly looked at her, wide eyed and mouth agape. Mortified, she couldn’t even think of a response.

 

“Now, why don’t you see yourself out before I contact security,” Bridget gave her a fake sweet smile, her finger depressing the talk button on the walkie talkie.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the movies it always seems the woman is shown watching sad movies, eating crap food, and crying. Sometimes men do that, too. :)


	20. The Hangover

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The morning after for Sherlock.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There will be two chapters today. I had it all in one and it was getting very long.

**Chapter 20**

  
  


A faint electronic ringing pierced through the drunken fog, unwillingly tugging Sherlock from his slumber. He felt as if a herd of elephants had stampeded over his body, which lay sprawled across mattress, his face smashed against a slobber soaked pillow. With considerable effort he managed to pry one eye open, then quickly shut it again when the streaks of morning sunlight stabbed his brain. 

 

“Oh god,” he croaked, dry mouthed. He considered rolling over or just moving his head, but believed any movement might kill him. Everywhere on his body hurt. Even the air in the room felt like a million tiny pin pricks against his skin. 

 

The ringing stopped for a second and then started again. This time he could feel the mattress vibrate, and his stomach lurched at the almost imperceptible movement. “Please, stop,” he croaked, his gut spasming with the churning concoction of alcohol and grease. 

 

**_“BRRRRRNNNGGG! BRRRRRNNNGGG!”_ **

 

The hotel phone on the nightstand shrilled next to Sherlock’s head, and he bolted upright onto his hands and knees, then lost his balance and fell off the bed. “Ow! For fuck’s sake” he yelled out in pain and curled into a ball. 

 

The bedroom door swung open and a worried Henry hurried into the room. “Are you all right, Mr. Holmes?” he lifted Sherlock off the floor, and helped him back up onto the bed. 

 

Sherlock gripped the duvet and his left leg swung clumsily up in the air as he scooched onto the bed, his robe falling open. He chose to leave it that way, modesty be damned. “Please, make it stop,” Sherlock whined, pointing at the phone and then clutching his throbbing head. He hadn’t felt this awful since he’d been tortured and nearly beaten to death. 

 

Henry took everything in stride, and answered the ringing phone with a cool detachment. “It’s your brother,” he said to Sherlock, his hand over the receiver. 

 

Sherlock gave a slight nod and clumsily took the phone from Henry. “Good morning,” he managed, the sound of his own voice painful to his ears. 

 

“Are you all right? You sound half dead,” Mycroft responded on the other end of the line.

 

“I’m fine,” he lied, not wanting to admit to his brother that he felt half dead. His stomach churned violently, and he knew it was the last warning of intended evacuation of its contents. He pressed the speaker button on the phone and then sprinted to the bathroom, barely making it in time. 

 

“Well, our parents have arrived. They will be here at my office in about two hours,” Mycroft’s voice sounded from the bedroom as Sherlock vomited into the bathroom sink. Gorging on food and whiskey had been a very poor decision. Morphine and cigarettes may have been wiser. 

 

Once his stomach calmed he turned on the faucet and rinsed down the sink, the sound of the water drowning out Mycroft’s annoying voice. He watched the water splash against the bowl, memories of the previous night’s events replayed in his mind. 

 

“Sherlock? Sherlock?” Mycroft called out from the phone, his voice rising. 

 

“Yes, I’m here,” Sherlock replied as loudly as he could manage.

 

“Should I reschedule with mother and father?”

 

“No, no it’s fine. I’m all ready for a family reunion. Well, less one family member,” he grabbed a flannel from the counter and wet it with cold water, then placed the rag on the back of his neck. How much had he drank last night? As he shut off the tap he caught his reflection in the mirror, realizing that he also looked half dead. 

 

“Did you make a list, Sherlock?” Mycroft asked.

 

“What? No! That’s not…” Sherlock staggered back to the bedroom with his eyes barely open, the room spinning around him. “I’m just sick, that’s all.”

 

“Oh Sherlock, do you really expect me to believe that?” he spoke in his condescending, big brother tone. 

 

“Mycroft!” Sherlock shouted, his throat raw and his brain pounding against his skull. “I did not take any drugs. I did not smoke any cigarettes. I took a page from your book and indulged in food and drink. I think I am entitled after the fun-filled day with our baby sister.”

 

“Rather testy this morning aren’t we?” Mycroft chided. “Are you with Miss Hooper?”

 

“No,” he had no desire whatsoever to discuss Molly with Mycroft. He’d probably just mock him as Eurus had done. 

 

“Ah, a lover’s quarrel. That didn’t take long,” he teased. 

 

Sherlock was not in the mood for any of this right now, “I will see you in two hours. Goodbye Mycroft.”

 

As he went to hang up the phone, Mycroft spoke again. “Sherlock, just give it time.”

 

“What?” Sherlock asked, turning off the speaker and putting the phone to his ear. “Give what time?”

 

“Love. You just need to be patient. It’s not like the movies, Sherlock. Especially when two people have been dancing around each other for years.”

 

Sherlock scoffed at his brother’s attempt at relationship advice. What on earth did he know. Mycroft was more isolated than he had ever been. “And how would you know?”

 

“You’re not the only one with secrets, brother mine,” his voice was wistful and then the line went dead. 

 

**XXX**

 

Sherlock soaked in a cool bath for half an hour, followed by a lengthy hot shower. He felt somewhat human when he finally emerged. In the bedroom he was pleased to find his cleaned and pressed suit laid out on the bed, along with freshly polished shoes, three button down shirts, socks, and pants. Henry had also set out aspirin, tomato juice, tea and biscuits on the nightstand, along with a note to call for breakfast. He wondered for a moment how much a full-time butler cost. Certainly more helpful than Mrs. Hudson and John combined. 

 

As he tucked in his shirt, there was a soft rap at the bedroom door, “Yes?” Sherlock called out.

 

Henry cautiously entered the room with hands clasped, body language signaling to Sherlock something was terribly wrong. Perhaps Mycroft had reported the room charge and he was about to be tossed out. “What is it?”

 

“Mr. Holmes, I regret to inform you there was something of an incident last night,” he spoke with uncertainty, his eyes darting about the room.

 

_ Of course it’s Mycroft. That’s how he found out where he was staying. Drama queen.  _ “Just spit it out,” Sherlock urged, pouring a cup of tea and taking a sip. 

 

“A Miss Hooper arrived,” as Henry spoke Sherlock choked on the tea. “Last night.”

 

“What?” he sputtered, drops of tea landing on his brand new shirt.  _ Molly? Here? How did she know? _

 

“The front desk is supposed to call when any visitor arrives,” he explained, beads of sweat forming on his forehead. “But, protocol was not followed.”

 

“And?” Sherlock asked, although he was fairly certain of what Henry would say next. 

 

“I’m sorry, sir. If I had known, this never would have happened.”

 

“What?” Sherlock was angry now. “Just tell me what happened.”

 

Henry looked down, wringing his hands. “Security escorted her from the hotel. Apparently they thought she was some sort of crazed fan.”

 

With a thud, Sherlock dropped the teacup on the nightstand and pinched his brow.  _ Shit.  _

 

“I have already informed security, and the front desk, that they made a horrible mistake, sir. Please let me know what can be done to rectify this matter with Miss Hooper.”

 

“I don’t know,” Sherlock replied with a shake of his head. For someone who was able to devise situations and accurately predict their outcome with regular success, he could not seem to get one thing right when it came to Molly. 

 

**XXX**

 

He chose to forego breakfast, and walk to The Mall instead of taking a cab or the chauffeured car offered by the hotel. He figured some fresh air would do his head and his stomach some good. He only wished he had sunglasses on this unusually bright and sunny day. As he walked his thoughts were consumed by Eurus and everything he had forgotten about his life, but eventually they drifted back towards Molly. He wondered if he should ring her, or possibly stop by her house. 

 

The meeting with Mycroft and his parents was tense, and having a nasty hangover did not help matters. Finding out their daughter was still alive and had been kept hidden for almost thirty years was something of a shock. He felt himself less sympathetic towards them than he had expected. Sherlock really wanted to ask some pointed questions of his parents, like why they had gone along with his repressed memories, why they had not gotten him some therapy, and so many others. They had just sat back and allowed him to grow up believing himself to be a sociopath. But now was not the time for those questions. 

 

It irritated him the way they passed blame onto Mycroft. He was just a child himself at the time, trying to handle a situation that was far beyond his years. It seemed most of his sympathy was directed towards his brother and what he had to deal with regarding their family, with very little left for his parents. 

 

After a very lengthy discussion on how they all should proceed with the Eurus situation, they parted ways with plans to meet for dinner the following evening. Mycroft was clearly not thrilled with the idea, and neither was Sherlock, but they went along anyway to keep mother happy.   

 

**XXX**

 

John rang just as Sherlock walked out of Mycroft’s office. “Did you want to meet up at Baker Street today?” he asked. “Sort through what’s left?”

 

“Not today,” Sherlock answered, taking a seat on a bench in front of the building. “I’m not...feeling well.” He then proceeded to tell John everything that had just transpired with his parents and Mycroft.

 

“So, Mycroft’s already back at it, I see?”

 

“Well, he’s coping the only way he knows how,” Sherlock felt sadness for his brother, and wondered briefly how different life may have been for him had he not been dealt such an unfair hand.  

 

“How is Molly? Did you see her last night?”

 

“Uh, yes. I stopped by her place,” he cleared his throat, uncomfortable at the thought of where John’s line of questioning may lead. It would be just like him to jump to sexual innuendos. 

 

“Oh, so she didn’t come to your hotel?”

 

_ So that’s how she knew where to find me.  _ “Uh, no.”

 

“Oh, I uh, checked the website,” John offered. “There are a few I thought you might find interesting. Want me to forward them to you?”

 

“No,” Sherlock replied. “No work. Not right now.”

 

“What?” John had read through over fifty emails that morning hoping to find something for Sherlock, assuming that what he needed most right now was a case to take his mind off everything. “Are you, are you serious? No work?”

 

“I’ve spent most of my life using the work as a coping mechanism. And it has been to my own detriment,” he spoke solemnly. “I need to spend some time figuring out how to really live my life without the constant distraction of the work.”

  
  
  



	21. We Can Be A Mess Together

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock and Molly get it all out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After this chapter, smut will ensue. The rating was changed for chapter 22, and other smutty smut that will come after.

**Chapter 21**

 

Molly decided that today would best be spent in bed. She had not slept a wink and had absolutely no desire to shower, dress, or do anything at all. She wasn’t even going to bother brushing her teeth. This way she would look and smell as rotten as she felt on the inside. 

 

With a night of no sleep she’d had a lot of time to think, realizing that, once again, she had made a mess of everything. There was no one to blame but herself for the sad state of her life.  She had overreacted to the texts and been incredibly unfair to Sherlock. The pills, however, she did have a right to be angry with him about those. It had only been a few months since he’d almost killed himself trying to catch Culverton Smith, and here he was at it again. 

 

Toby jumped up on the bed, and walked on her chest, letting out a loud howl in her face. “Oh, crap,” she realized she had not gone to the shop after all yesterday. Her poor cat had nothing to eat. 

 

Using the app on her phone she placed a grocery order, splurging on one hour rush delivery to keep her cat happy. Toby was an absolute pill when he was hungry, and to remind her of this he sauntered down to the foot of the bed and grabbed hold of her foot with his paws, gnawing on one of her toes. “Toby!” she shouted. “It will be here soon. No need to eat my feet!”

 

As she closed out the app, the screen froze as a call came through. Sherlock. Molly threw back her head and let out a loud, protracted groan. Why couldn’t he just leave her alone? She hit the decline button, and almost immediately he phoned again. Realizing he would not give up, she reluctantly answered the phone.

 

“Hullo Sherlock.”

 

“Molly,” his voice was hoarse. “Are you all right?”

 

“Yes, Sherlock. What do you want?” her tone was cold and clipped. 

 

The line was silent for a moment before he continued. “I, um, I was wondering if we could talk now.”

 

“Sherlock, I really don’t think that’s a good idea,” Molly did not feel strong enough right now to discuss anything. 

 

“Why not?” he asked. “You said last night we needed to talk. I don’t want to leave things like this between us, Molly.”

 

“Does it even matter?” she asked sarcastically, and then felt terrible about it. She knew she was being mean, but she just couldn’t stop herself from reacting in such a manner. 

 

“Yes, it matters. Of course it matters.”

 

Suddenly she remembered why she had gone to see him last night, and felt justified with her callousness. “Did you take my pills?”

 

“Yes,” Sherlock answered bluntly. 

 

“Wow, didn’t even try to come up with a lie,” Molly scoffed.  _ Bastard _ . “So anytime something emotionally upsetting happens you’re back on the drugs, is that it?”

 

“I didn’t take them.”

 

“You just -” she cried out before he interrupted.

 

“Yes, I poured them out down the sink. I didn’t ingest them.”

 

Molly was incensed. It was bad enough when she thought he had stole her pills for himself. “Why on earth would you do that?”

 

“So you wouldn’t ingest them,” his voice was soft, but then became firm. “Molly, I know what you’re doing, and you need to stop.”

 

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” she rushed out, her voice shrill. “I have insomnia. Lots of people have insomnia. It doesn’t mean-” 

 

Sherlock let out a sigh, trying to remain calm and not yell at her. Didn’t she know by now she could not lie to him? “I can count Molly. You’ve been taking too many, and those pills are highly addictive. I know all about addiction. It’s just a matter of time before you take even more and are completely dependent upon them, or worse.”

 

“I’m a doctor,” she tried to defend herself. “I wouldn’t do that.”

 

“Molly, you don’t know everything that happened with my sister. Did you know she had a coffin set up for you?” The image of that coffin with Molly’s body flashed in Sherlock’s mind, and rage bubbled up within him. 

 

Molly couldn’t believe her ears. A coffin? What was he talking about? Mycroft had not told her anything about a coffin. 

 

“I had to deduce who that coffin was…” his voice cracked, “was...for. Once I figured out it was, it was you…” she could hear him begin to softly cry on the other end of the line. 

 

“I thought, god...I thought you had gone and done it, and I had missed my chance to help you.”

 

“Sherlock, that’s not, not,” Molly stuttered, taken aback by how utterly wrecked he sounded, and still shocked that his sick sister had purchased a coffin for her. 

 

He shouted through the phone,  “I’ve seen the notes! The ones you write and hide in your kitchen!”

 

Molly shot straight up in bed, clutching at her chest trying to breath. He knew her secret. The one she had tried so hard to hide from everyone. Those dark thoughts that consumed her at times. The ones she felt compelled to write down, but never truly acted upon them. “You had no right!” she shouted. “No right to, to do that! To go through my things!”

 

“I had every right!” he shouted back through the phone. Grief and anger were twisting together like two snakes around his heart, his hands shaking as he held tightly to the mobile. A couple walked past him and stared, so he moved from the bench to a deserted side alley. 

 

“I couldn’t stand it. The thought of you, in there. That wooden box,” he ground his teeth, spitting out the words as if they were venom. “I destroyed it. I ripped it to shreds. But that image, of you. In there. I can’t,  _ christ Molly _ , I can’t get it out of my head.”

 

There was a long, silent pause as the rage cooled and he pulled himself back together. “What do you need, Molly? I want to help you. I  _ need _ to help you. Please, just tell me. I want you to be happy. But, I don’t know how to do that.”

 

Now Molly was crying, absolutely wracked with emotion.  She had always thought no one would care, and no one would miss her. Well, except for her cat. 

 

“I got this place, for you. A hotel,” he was hopeful she would take him up on this offer. Otherwise, he had no idea what he would do. “Just come here, please. It’s fantastic. Maybe you just need a break from everything. Call Bart’s, take some time off from work. We can talk and get things sorted.”

 

Molly sobbed loudly, all the sadness, pain, and self-loathing were pouring out of her in a tidal wave of emotions. “I...I just…” she hiccuped as she tried to talk. 

 

“I’ll send a car for you,” he rushed out, pacing up and down the alley. “You don’t need to do anything. Just get in and everything else will be taken care of.”

 

She did not respond, and the sound of her continued crying ripped at his heart. “You always put yourself last, and that needs to stop. Just let me take care of you.”

 

Between her tears Molly managed to laugh, to Sherlock’s surprise. “Molly?” he asked, confused by the sudden change. Had he said the wrong thing? Had he said too much? 

 

“Oh, I was there last night. But, I don’t think I’m welcome,” she laughed again. “They think I’m a stalker,” she wiped at her eyes and her nose with the cuff of her pajamas. “Just ask Bridget.”

 

Bridget. The blonde. The one who liked him. The one who flirted with him. The one who gave him the upgraded room. “Well, I guess we’re even now,” he chuckled. “Your busy body neighbor thinks the same of me.”

 

“Oh, that hag,” Molly laughed again, thankful for the moment of comedic relief after such an intense conversation. 

 

“I changed the text alert,” he offered. 

 

Molly rubbed her eyes, her face hot with embarrassment. “You, you didn’t need to do that. I, I overreacted.”

 

He agreed, but wasn’t about to tell her that. It would only make her feel worse, and he’d rather she felt better. He thought of his father, and all the times he had agreed or apologized to his mother, even though she was clearly in the wrong. Now, he understood the motivation behind that behavior. “I don’t want you to be upset. I don’t want you to feel like you’re…” he trailed off, uncertain if he should even say the next part. 

 

“Sherlock, you don’t-”

 

“It’s always been you, Molly,” he interrupted. “Always. I know that now. I just...it didn’t seem possible for someone like me, to have...someone.”

 

“Oh Sherlock,” she could see him in her mind, and wished they were not having this conversation over the phone so that she could wrap her arms around him. “You are a ridiculous man, but you are not unlovable.”

 

“I don’t know how to do this, Molly,” he confessed to her, deciding it was best to just get everything out in the open. “I’ve never done this before, and I’m going to make a lot of mistakes.”

 

“I know,” her voice was barely a whisper. “But, I don’t know if this is a good idea. Right now, I mean. I really am a mess, like I told you. I’ll probably just make things harder for you.”

 

“It’s all right,” he answered with a smile. “I’m a mess, too. But we can be a mess together.”

 

Molly nodded and chewed on her nail as she came to a decision. Time to stop living in the past and give Sherlock the chance he really deserved. Time to give herself a chance. She wiped away at her remaining tears, a lightness filling her heart. “Okay. I’ll come.”

 


	22. Consumation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Well, I think the title chapter says it all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: sexy times ahead. 
> 
> I had a lot of anxiety writing this chapter. It kept sounding too mechanical. I hope it turned out all right.

**Chapter 22**

 

Her plans to lay in bed all day like a slob had changed, yet again. She still hoped to spend the remainder of the day in bed. Just not in her bed, and certainly not alone.

 

Once her groceries were delivered she hopped in the shower, taking extra care to do a thorough job shaving as she had a pretty good idea of where this night would end. She curled her hair, applied a bit of makeup, and spritzed herself with her favorite Jo Malone cologne before slipping on a casual red dress, black tights and a black cardigan. She hoped that if she smartened up a bit the awful desk clerk from last night would not recognize her. That would be rather embarrassing. Or maybe not. She could rub it in her face that she was not a Hat Detective stalker, after all.

 

He had told her not to bother packing anything, but she felt strange not taking anything with her. So, she packed a small bag with a few toiletries and clothes. She phoned Bart’s and made arrangements to take a few more days off from work. It had been ages since she’d taken a holiday, except for the spare day here and there after Mary died to care for Rosie.

 

With reluctance she called on Mrs. Abernathy to look after Toby, unable to find anyone else on such short notice. She loathed the idea of placing him in a boarding facility, since it would be weeks before Toby forgave her. Much to her surprise, Mrs. Abernathy agreed. The encounter with Mycroft seemed to have caused a shift in her attitude.

 

A chauffeured black car arrived promptly at two o’clock, just as Sherlock had promised. The driver took her overnight bag and then opened the car door for her. “Oh, hi,” she smiled at Sherlock, seated inside the vehicle. He was clad in a light blue shirt and charcoal gray suit, looking delectable, and Molly had to resist the urge to jump in his lap and snog the hell out of him.

 

“Hello,” he said softly, taking hold of her hand as she slid into the seat, and kissing it. He had been giving himself a pep talk the entire ride over to her house. _Stay present. Don’t overthink things. Try not to talk too much._

 

“I thought I should escort you, just in case you cause another scene with security,” he teased with a wink, his blue eyes sparkling.

 

“Oh god,” she laughed, her cheeks turning pink at the memory. Prior to last night, the only time she had been escorted out by security was during a friend’s hen night at a dance club ten years ago.

 

“I’m sorry, if I had known-”

 

She interrupted, “It’s not your fault. I probably shouldn’t have shown up in my pajamas, unannounced, in the middle of the night.”

 

“Well, I suppose it was for the better. I was drunk off my arse last night,” Sherlock offered and Molly was puzzled by his words. The only time she had known of him to get drunk was at John’s stag night, when she had purposely miscalculated the amount they could drink without getting tanked. Not that she would ever admit that to him.

 

“Sherlock, this is…” she tried to find the words as she looked around the car. 

 

“I’m glad you decided to come. Just hanging out with the butler was going to get a bit lonely.”

 

“A butler?” she couldn’t believe what she was hearing. What had he done, and how much was he spending?

 

“Yeeeessss,” he drawled, “your best friend, Bridget, upgraded me to a penthouse. I dare say she might be the real crazy fan.” He leaned over and kissed her cheek, then whispered in her ear, “Prepare to be spoiled.”

 

He smelled just as good as he looked, and the timbre of his voice made her body tingle all over. Unable to resist, she brought her lips to his and kissed him soundly, before pulling away. She still felt uncertain at his comfort level for affection, especially since they were not really alone at the moment.

 

Missing her lips as soon as they parted, he took hold of her chin and kissed her again, and again, wanting more with each kiss. She tasted like strawberries and vanilla, with a small trace of spearmint. He held the back of her head with one hand, while the other roamed over her body.

 

“Uh, is there one of those,” Molly broke the kiss, fidgeting with her hands in her lap, and looked over at the back of the driver’s head, “privacy things?”

 

His fingers moved just underneath the hem of her dress, caressing her knee. “Unfortunately, no,” he trailed kisses along her jaw, then down her neck, breathing in the fruity floral scent of her perfume. “But it’s probably for the best.”

 

“Oh,” she managed with a shudder, distracted by the upward movement of his hand to the place that ached for his touch. “Why, uh, for the best?”

 

“Because this car ride is not long enough for all the things I want to do to you,” he noticed the faint blush that colored her decolletage, and the way her chest rose and fell with each breath. Emboldened by her body’s reaction, his hand slid further up her thigh. He let a beat pass, waiting for her to object or push his hand away.

 

When she grabbed his upper arm and pulled him closer, he took that as permission to continue. He breathed against her mouth, “I want to kiss you everywhere.”

 

"Everywhere," he added for emphasis, hesitantly rubbing his thumb against her quim, excited by the damp heat he felt there.  

 

She squirmed against the leather seat, squeezing her inner muscles as she imagined his head between her legs, and kissing his lips that tasted of her. “How much longer?” she asked, woozy with arousal.

 

He moved his hand back to a respectable place on her knee and she let out a frustrated whimper, preferring the previous placement of his hand. Her fingers fiddled with the top button of his shirt, waiting for his reply. It should only be a ten minute car ride, but suddenly it felt like an unbearable amount of time.

 

He responded by kissing her so passionately that her toes curled and wetness pooled between her thighs. They continued kissing for the remainder of the car ride, not giving a toss about the driver. They both figured he had probably seen much worse in his line of work than two soon-to-be lovers snogging in the backseat.

 

**XXX**

 

When they finally arrived at the hotel, they both smoothed out their clothing and hair, trying to give the appearance they had not been making out like two horny teenagers in the back of a car. He held her hand as they made their way through the lobby, and Molly spotted the blonde desk clerk out of the corner of her eye. She turned her head and flashed her a smug grin, Bridget turning white as a sheet when they passed.

 

“Don’t worry about her,” Sherlock kissed her temple, sure to make eye contact with Bridget as he did so. “She has a gambling addiction and creates amateur porn to pay off loan sharks.”

 

Molly squinted up at him suspiciously, “Are you just making that up?”

 

“Maybe,” he answered with a grin, and she playfully elbowed him in the ribs.

 

They continued to hold hands as they made their way through the hotel, and Sherlock noticed the smiles from some people they passed. He assumed they were tourists trying to be friendly, probably Americans. People in London weren’t prone to smiling at strangers, and he preferred it that way.

 

As they walked by a couple in their seventies who whispered and smiled, he finally realized it was because he and Molly were holding hands like a couple in love would do. The reason being they were a couple in love. Even strangers could see it. His heart swelled with happiness, and he couldn’t help but smile proudly.

 

Once inside the elevator he pulled her hand up to his lips and kissed the back of it. “Fifteenth floor,” he called out to the elevator attendant, his voice cracking with all the emotions he was trying to contain.

 

“What is it?” Molly asked, trying to decipher the look on his face. He seemed upset by something, or was it happy? Possibly both? 

 

With a twinkle in his eyes he just shook his head and let go of her hand, wrapping his arm around her shoulder instead and pulling her close. He felt so incredibly thankful that she was here with him.

 

Once they reached the penthouse, Henry greeted them at the open door. “Miss Molly Hooper, I presume,” he said and shook her hand.

 

“You presume correctly,” she answered with a warm smile.

 

“It is a delight to make your acquaintance, and I do apologize for the treatment you received during your last visit.”

 

“Oh, no worries,” and she walked into the penthouse, excited to see the interior. 

 

Henry looked after her and then whispered to Sherlock, “I took the liberty of making a few arrangements, sir. I do hope they are to your liking.”

 

“I’m sure they will be. Now, could you please allow us some privacy,” he spoke lowly, trying to infer as politely as possible that they needed to be left the hell alone for an extended period of time. A few hours, maybe even a few days.  “Emergencies only. Real emergencies.”

 

“Of course, Mr. Holmes,” he nodded in understanding and Henry took his leave.

 

Molly stood in the entryway, looking around at the space. Sherlock had told her a bit about the place, but it was even better than she had imagined. It was beautiful and luxurious, but also felt very homelike. “Wow,” she whispered, excited at the thought she would be staying here for the next week.

 

Sherlock approached her from behind, snaking his arm around her slim waist. “You like?” he asked with a kiss to the back of her neck.  

 

Molly sucked in a sharp breath, her entire body catching fire from his touch. Their walk through the hotel had done little to cool her libido. She bit down on her lip, feeling the hard steel of his erection against her backside, letting her know that he was in the same state. In answer his question she spun around in his embrace and kissed him, wrapping her arms around his neck, and pressing her hips roughly against his.  

 

It became apparent right then that nothing was going to get in their way this time. Nothing. Not Mrs. Hudson, or The Woman, or anyone. A brass band could come marching through the room and neither would be bothered to notice. They were all over each other groping and kissing with ferocious hunger, pulling at each other’s clothes. She ripped at his shirt and the buttons flew off, pinging across the marble floor.

 

He was consumed with lust, desperate to be with her, to feel every inch of her hot skin against his own. Sherlock lifted her up and she wrapped her legs around his torso, not breaking the kiss as he made his way up the staircase. He surmised that carrying her up the stairs like this wasn’t the best idea, and maybe he should’ve aimed for the sitting area instead of the bedroom. But, he was not about to let her go and wanted her to be comfortable for what was sure to be a very long night.

 

As he got closer to the top, his suspicions were confirmed when Molly moved her mouth to his neck, sucking at the skin just below his earlobe. Caught off guard by the wonderful sensation, Sherlock tripped on the step and dropped her onto the stairs, tumbling down on top of her.

 

“Oh my god, are you okay? Are you hurt?” he panicked, his eyes filled with concern as he leaned back and looked her over. If they ever managed to have sex it would be a bloody miracle.

 

Molly snorted at their clumsiness and how they truly were a mess together. But, this was not going to stop them. She took hold of his shirt collar and roughly pulled him back on top of her. The weight of his body had felt utterly delicious and she wanted that feeling back immediately. There was no point in getting up. No point in stopping. None. She had fantasized a time or two about having sex on the stairs, and was all too eager to make that fantasy a reality right now with Sherlock.

 

His mouth was hot on hers, tongues tangling as she kicked off her shoes and hurriedly undid his pants. Sherlock moaned her name as she took hold of him, running her hand up and down his thick, velvety length. Her walls pulsated imagining what he would feel like inside of her, and she decided she needed him right that very second. She let out a small grunt of frustration when she remembered she was wearing tights and would not be able to just quickly push those aside.

 

As if reading her mind, Sherlock reached up under her dress and hooked his fingers in the top of her tights and knickers, quickly pulling both of them down. At the sound of ripping fabric he rushed out an apology.

 

“Shut up,” Molly bit out, positioning him at her wet entrance. Just the feel of his tip against her and she was spewing a string of filthy obscenities in her mind. He felt so damn good, and she was thankful she had not had her IUD removed because she wanted nothing between them.

 

He had planned to be gentle their first time. To cherish her, and take things slowly. But, they were too far gone for that now. With shaking hands he took hold of her face and stared deeply into her brown eyes, needing to know with absolute certainty that she wanted this. 

 

“Please” she whispered, her eyes fluttering shut. 

 

He smashed his lips to hers, kissing her deeply as he pushed inside of her. She was so tight around him that he stilled, allowing her time to adjust, before pushing in further and filling her completely with his length.

 

 _Oh sweet Jeeeessssus._ The sensation of being enveloped by her slick heat had him gloriously dizzy with pleasure. He pressed his face against her shoulder, afraid to make the slightest movement for fear it would send him over the edge. His fingernails clawed at the carpet, desperately trying to keep himself from orgasming. _Oh Molly, god, Molly._ Sherlock knew in that instant he had a new addiction. He would never be able to get enough of her. Never.

 

Molly threw her head back and gasped loudly, overwhelmed by how amazing he felt. She turned her head to the side and caught sight of them in the mirrored wall of the stairs, her tights and knickers hanging off one foot, his pants halfway down his thighs exposing his luscious backside. “Fuuuuuck” she breathed out, becoming wetter at the reflection of their connected bodies. She pulled the tights free from her foot and wrapped her legs around his waist, pulling him in even deeper.

 

Molly could see his handsome face reflected in the mirror, his eyes squeezed shut, his mouth opening and closing with words he could not speak. The utterly lost look on his face made her walls contract around him, provoking a tightly strangled moan from Sherlock. He opened his eyes and met her stare in the mirror, the visual almost making him lose control again. She smiled wickedly at him and grabbed a fistful of his hair, bringing his face back to hers.

 

“Molly,” he gazed down at her lovingly, dark curls tumbling across his forehead. This is where he belonged. Where he had always belonged. He thought he could stay here forever, just like this. With sweet reverence he kissed her, slowly pulling out an inch and pushing back in, capturing her sigh in his mouth. 

 

Molly leaned back on her elbows to give them a better angle, and moved her hips against his encouragingly. He tried a few clumsy thrusts, insecurity at his lack of experience taking hold.

 

“Grab hold of the step,” she coaxed, sensing his uncertainty. As she rubbed his back soothingly, they found their rhythm together, which grew faster with each second. They kissed with a frantic intensity, their lips only pulling apart for gasps of air. The carpet rubbed against her bare skin, burning her bum, but she did not care. It was a small price to pay for this ecstasy.

 

The angle of their position from the stairs had him rubbing perfectly against her clit, and it did not take long before she reached the edge. “Oh god, Sherlock,” she breathed, feeling a powerful orgasm build. He was definitely a quick learner.

 

“Don’t stop don’t stop don’t stop,” she keened over and over, until she was no longer able to speak or even think.  Molly tightened her legs around him and dug her nails into his back, her tongue licking the drops of salty sweat from his reddened neck. She wailed loudly then bit down on his shoulder, strong waves of pleasure wracking her body with intense convulsions.

 

The mix of pleasure and pain from Molly’s nails and teeth brought Sherlock to the brink as well. He wrapped one arm tightly around her waist, pulling her close, the silky fabric of her dress sticking against his bare skin. He groaned unintelligibly against her neck as he came deep inside her, his back muscles spasming beneath her hands. Spent he collapsed on top of her, both of them gasping for breath.

 

 _Ravished._ It was a word that filled many of the trashy romance novels Molly had read over the years. That word choice by the author always made her laugh. She’d had good sex, but would never describe it as being ravished. “Sherlock, that was…” she panted, slowly coming back down to earth. Now, she knew what it meant to be ravished.

 

“I know,” he replied gruffly, unable to move. “Can we do that again?”

 

Molly laughed heartily, squeezing her muscles around his softening cock that was still inside her. “Oh, absolutely.”

  
  



End file.
